A Writer's Life....Caroline Clemmons

8 HEARTS BEAT AS ONE - INDIE BOOK COLLECTIVE

2012-02-01T01:28:00.033-06:00

ONLY FREE ON FEBRUARY 2ND!

Free is my favorite price, how about you? What's better than one free book? Five FREE books! Today I'm featuring an anthology from the Indie Book Collective's Bestseller For A Day. The anthology is titled 8 HEARTS BEAT AS ONE. The great news is that this anthology and FOUR companion books are FREE on February 2nd only! Here are some reviews for the free anthology:

This Valentine's Anthology has everything! A romance to make you laugh, cry and grip the edge of your seat. Satisfied all of our reading needs! - Your Need To Read

An amazing compilation of breathtaking romance stories that will leave you wanting more. We look forward to the stories that held promises of a sequel. - Para Your Normal

This February, to celebrate their 1st Birthday, The Indie Book Collective is offering 8 HEARTS BEAT AS ONE for FREE. The anthology contains eight Valentine's Day themed reads ranging from action packed to sigh out loud romance.

Just grab 8 HEARTS BEAT AS ONE at the free promotional price on Thursday, February 2nd, 2012 and send a friend who you know would love finding a fun, fast-paced read for free, and grab the 4 FREE Bonus Reads that are the perfect companion to this Valentine's Day Themed Anthology.

The Bonus Buys:

"Carolyn McCray's 30 PIECES OF SILVER proves that Dan Brown's crown is up for grabs. Part minefield and all roller-coaster ride, here is a story as controversial as it is thrilling. Hunker down for a long night because once you start this book won't be putting it down."
James Rollins, New York Times bestseller of The Doomsday Key

That's right, 30 PIECES OF SILVER makes Brown's Da Vinci look like a Sunday school lesson! You have been warned!

Face Your Target... Brooke Munkle didn't leave a lukewarm marriage just to flounce into the first hot bed. Too young, too hot, Elliott Jovovich has no business distracting her from starting over. If only he'd get out of her fantasies. Maybe if she keeps things simple, she can allow herself one naughty indulgence. After all, who will know?

Pull The String... Elliott sees through Brooke's stiff facade. Underneath her struggle to hold it all together, a vibrant, wanton woman is waiting to be freed. To win her heart, he'll play by her rules, which would be a a lot easier if her hostile best friend didn't fight so dirty. Sure, he has ammo of his own, but what he knows could hurt Brooke.

Steady. Aim. Release... Millie Match isn't sure what she did to deserve this matchmaking hell. The sneaking around, the spying, compatibility issues, chemistry crises. Her target, Brooke, is keeping secrets. Elliott is definitely Mr. Wrong. And if Millie doesn't make true love magic now, she'll lose the one thing in this punishment worth fighting for.

"An exciting, fast-moving story with fantastic characters and a riveting plot." ~John Foxjohn, bestselling author of Tattered Justice

WINNER of the 2010 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense!

WINNER of the 2011 Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements!

"Ann Charles has written an intriguing mystery laced with a wicked sense of humor. Watch out Stephanie Plum, because Violet Parker is coming your way." ~Deborah Schneider, RWA Librarian of the Year 2009 and author of PROMISE ME

The first time I came to Deadwood, I got shot in the ass.--Violet Parker
Little girls are vanishing from Deadwood, South Dakota, and Violet Parker's daughter could be next. She's desperate to find the monster behind the abductions. But if she's not careful, Violet just might end up as one of Deadwood's dearly departed.

I'm over forty. I don't have a blankey. I have vodka.

I'm no 'ologist.' I don't give advice. If that's what you're looking for, go buy Dr. Somebody's book.

I write about men, women, sex, and chocolate. My experiences, my truth, my martinis.

*Note: Thompson employs hashtags (i.e., the # sign) in her work. Google it. These are not typos, people #deargod.

Praise for THE MANCODE: EXPOSED -- already a #1 bestseller in Marriage, Parenting and Families AND Parenting and Relationships!

5/5 Star Reviews:
As a long time warrior in the Battle of the Sexes, I would've won a lot more skirmishes had I had a copy of Mancode in my saddle. Reaching back toward my shotgun, I would've found this book. Instead of shooting the man, I could've said, "Stop acting like a man!" Buy Mancode and stop wasting bullets.
~ Beth Wareham, author POWER OF NO

Mancode: Exposed is a scathingly funny, rapid fire and heartfelt looks at guys. Author Rachel Thompson delivers a satirical piece that invokes strong shades of Penny Marshall and Seth McFarlane.
~ Casey Ryan, Host and Creator, Cutting Room Floor radio program

Thanks for stopping by!

ANOTHER PEEK AT MY SWEET CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

2012-01-30T01:33:00.079-06:00

West Texas - where there are
"miles and miles of miles and miles"

HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME is a sweet contemporary set in West Texas near where I grew up. My uncle and cousins were farmers who also sometimes raised cattle. Can’t keep all your eggs in one basket, right? Not with Texas weather so unpredictable. My husband had several uncles who were ranchers and farmers, and some of his cousins still farm. Although we live in a rural area now, both Hero and I grew up in the “big city” of Lubbock. If you've ever been to Lubbock, you realize that's a joke. It's about 250,000 people, and it still has a small town atmosphere. But since it's the largest town for 120 miles, it's a major shopping and business center.

Lubbock Cotton Field

To raise money to build their new house, my father-in-law raised cotton on a field at the edge of town and my husband helped. Large-scale farmers had lots of equipment, but my father-in-law had to hire someone to plow the land for planting. The rest was accomplished by hand--Hero's, his dad's, and eventually his younger brother's hands. Hero remembers initially clearing hundreds of tumbleweeds from the land and burning them to ready the plot. Needless to say, he hates tumbleweeds! After several years, the family had saved enough cash to buy a lot-and-a-half and build a house on it, with my father-in-law as contractor and doing some of the work himself. Once they’d saved enough to build, that was the end of their cotton farming. My husband was grateful. I'll bet his dad was even more grateful, because he did all this farming while holding down a full-time job.

Texas Tech Univ.
is in Lubbock

During the time Hero and his brother worked in the cotton field, when they came in dirty and tired, their mom would tell them that if they didn’t go to college, they’d be doing back-breaking work like that forever. Hero said he didn’t know then what his degree would be, but he knew that he was going to college so he’d never have to farm again. He graduated from Texas Tech with an electrical engineering degree that he used in the aeroapace industry. So what did we do as soon as he reached the peak of his career? You guessed it! We bought a small acreage in a rural area, and here we are today. Life certainly plays tricks on us, doesn’t it?

Here’s a video about tumbleweeds even my husband can’t hate.

About the time my future husband was burning tumbleweeds, “chopping cotton” (hoeing weeds from young cotton rows) and "pulling bolls" (harvesting the cotton), my family moved to Lubbock. Dad had been managing cotton gins, but he was making more money buying and selling cotton. No, he didn't have to cart the bales around. The process involves samples of each crop for grade, which is where the term "fair to middling" originated. (In West Texas, when you ask someone how they're doing, often the answer will be "fair to middlin'.")

Lubbock, Texas, dubbed the Hub of the Plains

First, my dad bought our house near the same edge of town as where my husband's family lived. We were so pleased to have our own new home. When I was small and we lived in California, Dad had built houses. But each house supposedly built for us ended up sold because of a local housing shortage. He and Mother could never turn down a tidy profit. Anyway, in Lubbock we were happy to finally own one similar--though not nearly as well constructed--to those Dad had built in California. The first year we lived in Lubbock, cotton plants came up in our flowerbeds because the housing development was carved from a cotton farm. We thought that was funny. Yes, we lived simply and took pleasure in simple things.

You can see that even a contemporary book about that area might be close to my heart. Here’s an excerpt from this modern day Cinderella story in which a Dallas city girl, Courtney Madison, inherits property and investments in West Texas. The set up is that hero Derek Corrigan had arranged for his best friend Rusty to be Courtney’s date for a neighborhood potluck the previous Friday. Derek might have asked Courtney himself, but he’d already arranged a date with an old friend, Janelle, before he learned of the party. Things didn’t go well for Derek and Janelle at the party, and now it’s Monday morning. It helps if you know that the house Courtney inherited is the one in which Derek grew up and that it was Derek's adopted father, Sam, who left Courtney the legacy, but the will binds Derek and Courtney to work together for a year. Derek now lives across the road.

Family-oriented contemporary romance.
Cover represents Derek and his two children,
Meg and Warren. Courtney's dog is named Bingo.

HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME excerpt:

Derek Corrigan

After wrestling with himself all weekend, Derek had come to apologize to Courtney. The two of them had to keep working together for the better part of a year. Somehow she’d found out he’d set her up with Rusty and misunderstood. She left a message with Rosa that she’d arranged for the repair of his truck and that Jimmy would be working off the cost of repairs. Didn’t even ask to speak to him.

He figured she was still mad, but he didn’t see why. What was so all-fired wrong with setting her up with a nice guy like Rusty? Hells bells, he’d just tried to help her get acquainted. Where’s the crime in that?

At church yesterday, she’d evaded him or looked right through him. That wasn’t even Christian. And just when he was getting used to having her to talk to. Of course, for Rusty she’d been all sugar and cream. Derek smiled in spite of himself. She’d made Janelle spitting mad with that little imitation act. He’d never seen anyone get the best of Janelle, but Courtney had. Everyone got it, and laughed. Except Janelle.

Oh, no. Janelle didn’t laugh at herself. She’d sulked the rest of the evening. He vowed never, but never, to ask Janelle anywhere again.

In Courtney’s house the next day, Derek grabbed a cup of coffee as he passed through the kitchen. Courtney was in the living room consulting with two painters. He stopped dead in his tracks. What the hell did she need with painters? Hadn’t this house been plenty good enough for Maggie and for Sam just as it was? Sure it had, and plenty good enough for him too. Why did Courtney have to go changing things?

Courtney
Madison

When she saw him standing in the kitchen doorway, she paused. “Joe and Juan helped me get our trucks to Buddy’s garage. Buddy will call you when yours is repaired.” She stared, eyebrow lifted. “Did we have an appointment about something else today?"

An appointment? In his own house? He kept forgetting it wasn’t his house anymore. The house wasn’t Sam’s either. A pang of sorrow stabbed his heart and sliced downward. This had been his place with Sam and Maggie—the place they’d built especially for him. That was then; this was now. The whole place was hers and she could make any changes she chose. He had no say in anything she did with the house and farm. Instead, he was now the interloper in her house.

He exhaled. “No, but I’d like a word with you when you have a minute. I’ll just wait in Sam’s, um, your study.”

Ten minutes later she came in and he’d swear the room’s temperature dropped twenty degrees. She closed the door softly behind her. Man, but he had the distinct feeling she’d have preferred to slam it—and hard.

The second the door clicked shut, she launched into him. “Derek Corrigan, I realize you think I’m an incompetent social pariah. However, do not ever, ever take it upon yourself to find dates for me. No matter how nice the man might be. Do I make myself clear?”

Her quick breaths recalled the way she’d looked with only the sheet covering her breasts. Admiring her fire, he wished she wouldn’t direct it at him. Oh, hell. How had she found out about that? Rusty never would have told her.

He threw up his arms. “I thought it would be nice for you to have an escort since you don’t know anyone here yet. Okay? What’s so wrong with that?”

“For your information, I had a date the weekend before the party.”

He froze, and blood drained from his body. Who had she been out with? He’d bet it was that creep Lance Thompson. Damn the man. “I was only trying to help.”

She shook a finger in his face. “You should have asked me first. Do you have any idea how humiliated I was to learn Rusty didn’t ask me on his own? I had to hear from Janelle that I was a charity case.”

Damn, damn, damn. His fingers clenched and he wanted to punch the wall. He should have guessed Janelle was the culprit.

Courtney turned and paced. “And to think I fell for that fake visit to Rusty’s where he just happened to have fresh coffee and a cake from his mother. Oh, brother, I guess you both got a laugh out of that.”

“No, we did not laugh. Hey, you needed to meet him, right? And once he met you he said he would have asked you anyway, so what's the difference?”

When she opened her mouth and stepped toward him, he tried again before she could launch another attack. “Look, Janelle shouldn’t have told you, but you shouldn’t have made her cry, either.”

“Humph.” Courtney narrowed her eyes. “Puhleeze, me make that woman cry? Give me a break. That woman hasn’t cried since she got her first training bra.” She paced the office as if she were being paid by the step.

Man, Courtney had one smart mouth on her when her anger took over. “She cried because you called her a piranha after she tried so hard to make you feel welcome to the community.”

She stopped pacing again. “Your girlfriend certainly made no effort to welcome me. In fact, she did everything within her power to make me feel unwanted.”

Hell, how had he come to be defending Janelle? “She’s not my anything. We...um, she’s just gone through a rough divorce.” He suddenly remembered that this was Janelle’s third divorce, but Courtney didn’t need to know that. “Neither of us wants to remarry. She likes to have a presentable escort when a twosome is called for—“

“Please spare me.” She held up a hand. “I’m not interested in the sordid details of your sexual liaisons.”

“They’re not sex…” He swallowed hard. “Not liaisons of any kind, just two people going out with no strings attached. Okay?”

Courtney faced him and jammed fists on her hips. “If you believe that woman is not interested in marriage, and to you, then what I heard was right.”

Anger raced through him. Dear God, how he hated gossip. He’d been hurt too deeply by rumors, first as a child about his parents’ lifestyle and poverty, and later by his former wife’s escapades. No, he’d never speak a word of gossip himself. How he’d like to shut Courtney up now by kissing her senseless instead of waging this stupid argument.

“Oh yeah?” He took a deep breath and glared. “What did you hear?”

She stepped toward him and leaned into his face. “That where making money is concerned, you’re King Midas, but where women are concerned, you really are dumb as dirt.”

“Who says?” He clamped his jaw tight. Damned if he’d apologize now. He’d bet Elaine made that wisecrack. She’d been mad at him ever since grade school when he’d called her a chipmunk. “Was it Elaine?”

“Everyone who knows you says it.” She stamped her foot. “Do you hear me? Everyone!”

“Yeah, well at least Janelle is nicer than that creep Lance Thompson. I suppose you plan to keep seeing him?” He didn’t trust that man and couldn’t understand why she didn’t see through Lance’s fake so-called charm.

“As a matter of fact, I am. He’s an interesting date.”

The ring of the telephone forestalled her next comment. She gave him another of her molten glares before she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

She staggered backward to a chair. Her eyes widened as color drained from her face. “I’ll be there right away.”

He stepped forward. “What’s happened? Who’s hurt?”

With shaking hands, she leapt up and grabbed her purse and keys. “Jimmy’s been in a fight at school.”

HOME, SWEET TEXAS HOME is available in print and e-book from The Wild Rose Press at
www.thewildrosepress.com/caroline-clemmons-m-638.html,
and at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online stores. I hope you’ll give it a read and let me know what you think.

Thanks for stopping by!

PETS IN OUR LIVES AND IN OUR BOOKS

2012-01-27T19:27:00.000-06:00

First, the winner of a free e-book from our Amazing Authors Event is Becky. I've sent her an email.

Friends and I were talking recently, teasing one friend because in all her books either the hero or heroine has a dog. I like that, and books I write usually include pets. Showing a character that is sympathetic to cats or dogs adds a dimension to the person. A gruff man who befriends a scruffy dog lets the reader know that the tough guy is not as heartless as he wants others to believe. He has instantly become more sympathetic to readers. In the movie “Hang ‘Em High,” Clint Eastwood is introduced to the audience driving cattle across a river. He gets off his horse and wades back into the river (wearing chaps) to save a young calf. Fast on his heels is a posse ready to hang him. Because of his compassion, we know this man has to be a good guy. Good thing, because that's the extent of character development for this movie.

Our Shih Tzu, Webster

A heroine with a pet comes across as kinder and more nurturing. This is, of course, if the pets are well cared for. I hate, hate, hate books where a pet dies! Remember THE YEARLING? OLD YELLER? No thanks! Won’t read it.

Our family’s pets are all rescued animals that have become family members. I know their life span is shorter than ours, but don’t want to be reminded when I’m reading for pleasure.

Sebastian, our
17 lb. baby

Pets don’t have to be cats or dogs or horses. At a critique meeting once, I told my cp’s (critique partners) about my neighbor who raises beautiful rare hens. Yes, they are beautiful! Called blue-reds, they are rusty red with soft bluish wing and tail feathers. My citygirl cp thinks I should move into the city, too, and said, “You have to get out of the country, now!”

Bailey, our shy tabby

The first “real” mystery I read was by Erle Stanley Gardner and featured a parrot. I was about nine and don’t remember the title of the book. Sad, because that novel changed my life by showing me mysteries didn’t have to include Nancy Drew. But I digress. Again.

Pets add substance to any story, just as they do to our lives.

Thanks for stopping by!

IRRESISTABLE SWEET BLOG

2012-01-25T19:11:00.000-06:00

My hope is that you believe my blog, "A Writer's Life," is irresistably sweet and that you read it regularly. Linda Banche on her blog “Linda Banche and her World of Historical Hilarity” (her books are great fun!) nominated me for this award. Linda is the author of AN INHERITANCE FOR THE BIRDS, part of the Love Letters series from The Wild Rose Press, and releases Feb. 1, 2012. Linda has a lovely blog, too. I’m sure she’d love if you visited her and discovered her witty Regency historicals http://lindabanche.blogspot.com. To accept the award, I have to name seven things about me that you may not know and then nominate ten blogs.

Here are seven things about me:

1. I once received a bomb threat intended to intimidate me. Because the phone threat was so unexpected, I laughed and the caller hung up.

antique cup and saucer

2. My youngest daughter and I once had antique booths in three antique malls. If we had time--and money--we’d keep dealing in antiques even though the market is depressed. Love those estate sales and auctions!

3. Before I learned to say, “no, thank you,” I was a Girl Scout and Brownie leader, PTA President, room mother, Sunday School teacher, on and on ad nauseum.

4. Several yeara ago, I drove a rental car on the German autobahn. No, I didn’t put pedal to the metal, but I did go 85 mph.

5. I used to love to play friendly bridge several times a week, but am not certain I even remember how to bid.

6. I first met my husband Hero when I was 12 and he was 15. We didn’t date until I was a senior in high school.

7. Even though I’m Texan, both sides of my family were Oklahoma pioneers who settled in Harmon County (formerly a part of Old Greer County).

Now that you’ve learned more about me, let me share something about my friends' blogs. I have many favorite blogs, many of which are group blogs such as Sweethearts of the West. Here are ten individual authors whose active blogs I love to visit (and that Linda hasn't already named):

1. Anna Kathryn Lanier “Chatting With Anna Kathryn” at http://annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com

2. Cathie Dunn “Cathie Dunn Writes” at http://cathiedunn.blogspot.com

3. Celia Yeary “Romance and a Little Bit o’ Texas” at http://celiayeary.blogspot.com

4. Elaine Stock “Everyone’s Story” at http://elainestock.blogspot.com

5. Ginger Simpson “Cowboy Kisses” at http://cowboykisses.blogspot.com

6. Jacquie Rogers “Romancing the West” at http://romancingthewest.blogspot.com

7. Lyn Horner “Texas Druids” at http://texasdruids.blogspot.com

8. Maggie Toussaint “Mudpies and Magnolias” http://mudpiesandmagnolias.blogspot.com

9. Mona Risk at http://monarisk.blogspot.com

10. Susan Macatee at http://susanmacatee.wordpress.com

Hope you’ll check out these blogs - but please still come back to visit mine!

Thanks for stopping by!

LONG WAY HOME, CIVIL WAR ADVENTURE ROMANCE

2012-01-23T03:33:00.014-06:00

Three years ago, friends on a private loop decided to put together an anthology set around the Civil War and invited me to participate. That’s not my usual time period--I write either contemporary or historical set between 1870-1895. I wanted to be a good sport, though, so I joined the group.

We started with eleven authors, but people had to drop out for various reasons, including one who stomped off in a huff because the editor wouldn’t let her include her Mexican historical. At the end, six of us wrote novellas, and our anthology placed third in the EPIC. Woohoo!

Now that I have the rights back, I’ve republished this story on Kindle. It’s the only thing I’ve written which does not take place in Texas--not even a scene. It was fun to write, and I hope readers enjoy it. I based it on historical journals about the area of Northwest Georgia from which my ancestors migrated to Texas. Witherspoon is not a real town, but named after a Granbury, Texas antique mall where my daughter and I once had a booth. I used some family names, though: Parmelia, Sarah, Bailey, Hardeman, and McDonald (the Scots clan to which my Johnson family aligned). I also used the home description from my ancestors.

Don't this man have a sweet face?

Here’s a blurb from LONG WAY HOME.

Parmelia Bailey has promised to keep the women and younger brother of her family safe until the family's men return from War. That includes bringing her brother’s fiancée, Sarah Hardeman, and Sarah’s mother and sisters to stay at her grandmother’s home in town. Maybe she shouldn’t have stolen back her horses from the Yankees, but she could think of no other way to rescue the Hardeman women.

Darrick McDonald waited four years to return to Witherspoon, Georgia and Parmelia. Who would have dreamed war would bring him back? He had to protect Parmelia from a renegade who’d vowed to make her sorry she’d turned down his proposal. Darrick prayed he wasn’t too late.

Here’s an excerpt from LONG WAY HOME:

At last, she turned the buggy into her grandparents’ drive and pulled around to the back. With a huge sigh, she stopped at the carriage house. Surely a week had passed since she caught her horses last night. All she wanted now was to crawl in bed and sleep for days, pretend the war never happened. She couldn’t relax yet, not until the horses were back with those Yankee scoundrels.

“Sarah, let’s see your mother and sisters inside. After that, Rob and I will deal with the chickens and cow.” Parmelia’s hands shook as she climbed out of the buggy. Fatigue, relief, and fear turned her limbs to jam.

She walked Sarah and her family to the back door where Grammy and Mama took over.

Parmelia returned to the carriage house. “Rob, help me unhitch the horses and put their bridles on so I can take them back.”

“Why don’t I do that.” Darrick McDonald stepped from the shadows. He appeared calm, until she looked at his face.

Parmelia was surprised sparks didn’t shoot from his dark eyes and ignite the entire carriage house. She clutched her throat, hoping a way out of this predicament would come to her. How had he known to come here, to wait for her?

“Darrick, you—you gave me a fright.”

“Did I? Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.” He freed one of the horses.

“When did you come back?” She fought for an idea, but none came to her.

“Late yesterday.” He walked back and forth beside Lady. “Funny thing, you having two horses after the Army confiscated all the livestock in town. Another coincidence, two Army horses went missing overnight.”

“Did they?”

He stopped and gave her a piercing look.

She gave up with a sigh. “I can explain.”

“I’m listening.” His eyes were still dark with anger.

“My brother’s fiancée. You remember Sarah Hardeman? I had to bring her and her family to town. I—I had no way to do that without a team.”

Rob added, “These are our horses anyway. You low down, yellow-bellied Yankees stole them from us.”

Oh, Lord. Leave it to her brother to make things worse.

“Hush, Rob. Give me the bridles. Put the cow in the barn then come help me with these chickens.”

He pouted and handed over the tack. “Oh, all right. I never get to hear anything good.” Rob untied the cow and stomped toward the barn.

“So, you’re a Yankee officer now.”

“Captain.” Darrick crossed his arms. “I’m waiting for an explanation, Parmelia.”

Her temper conquered her good sense, and she stepped toward him. “You’ve got your nerve, coming here wearing that uniform, you...you traitor.”

He stepped forward until they were almost touching. “Call me what you will, but you’re the one who stole two horses in a time of war.”

She refused to retreat. “How can you accuse me of stealing, when you Yankees have taken over our town?”

“Because you did steal them, and you weren’t even clever about it. I followed their tracks to your grandparents’ home. You do realize that with a less sympathetic Colonel, they could lose their home?”

Dear heaven, she hadn’t considered her grandparents if she were caught.

“No!” She took a step backward. “I was going to return them. Rob’s right, they are ours. They know me, so they were eager to come to me.”

He pulled a small, withered apple from his pocket.

Rats, she must have dropped it, one of the few from their store of fruit in the cellar.

Darrick held the apple in front of her nose. “Looks to me as if you coaxed them away.”

She sighed, “Maybe I did, but it was only to use them for a little while. Sarah and her family were in great peril.”

He tossed the apple from one hand to the other, but stared at her face. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed.”

She grabbed the apple from him. “Sarah, her mother, and sisters could have been murdered and their home burned. We barely got away in time as it is.”

“If you had bothered to consult the Colonel, he would have sent soldiers for them. As it turns out, I would have taken my men and gone.”

“Are you crazy? You could have been killed,” she echoed him.

Shocked at the concern in her voice and in her heart, she continued, “Um, I mean, they might not have recognized you and could have shot you. Or, that man that tried to take my horse could have killed you.”

Oh, no, she hadn’t meant to tell that last part.

He grew angrier and grabbed her arms. “What do you mean?"

She tried to twist away. “Nothing.”

“Parmelia Bailey, who tried to take your horse?” He turned her to face him.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she stammered, “There, um, there was a man in the woods, a ways north of the Mitchell’s house. He…um, he jumped at me and tried to take Beauty, but Rob and I got away.”

“You are the stubbornest, orneriest woman I’ve ever known. Don’t you realize what could have happened to you?”

“It crossed my mind,” she snapped and raised her face.

“If you were mine, I’d, I’d...”

“Yours? You moved away and left me, remember? And now you’re a Yankee officer.” Lord, she shouldn’t have reminded him she’d loved him. Worse, she still loved him.

She willed tears not to fall. Keep your anger up, don’t let him know how he hurt you.

“You know why I left Witherspoon. You know I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” And she would have chosen to go with him, if only he’d asked, even if she had been only sixteen.

“Like you chose to steal these horses?”

She shrugged away from his grasp. “Steal? Soldiers stole them from us. Do you understand the term borrow? That’s what I did.”

“In times of war, the government has the power to confiscate items from civilians. Do you understand that?”

“Call it what you wish, it’s still stealing when you take what’s not yours and keep it.”

“Maybe we’re only borrowing your horses.”

She thought his mouth twitched to hide a smile. His humor only irked her more.

“Like you Yankees borrowed from the stores in town so we can’t even buy supplies—that is, if we had money. Which we don’t.”

He smiled. “I heard you had plenty of those Confederate dollars.”

“Oh, you...you Yankees make me so mad! Take my horses and leave.” She turned and stomped toward the house.

He called, “Aren’t you going to invite me in to say hello to the family? Maybe you could bake me an apple pie.”

She slammed the kitchen door and leaned against it. His laughter floated around her.

From the front of the house, she heard Mrs. Hardeman complaining and Mamma and Grammy’s soft, soothing answers. She wondered how much of Mrs. Hardeman’s grousing they’d have to endure.

Parmelia pushed away from the door, and then remembered those dratted chickens. Peeking through the curtains, she saw Darrick leading the horses away. His long, lean body looked good, his walk a confident swagger. Dark brown hair caught the sunlight. Lordy, he was better looking than he had been four years ago when he lived in Witherspoon.

When he’d touched her just now, she’d sizzled. She’d wanted to throw herself in his arms and have him reassure her, kiss her, love her. How could he create these sensations inside her when he’d abandoned her four years ago? When now he sided with their enemies?

She jumped when Sarah came up to her.

“Parmelia, is something wrong?”

“I—I just remembered the chickens is all. I’ll get Rob to help me get them down and into the chicken coop.”

“Nonsense. My sisters and I will do it. You look all worn out. You must have ridden most of the night.”

She shrugged. “I’m all right. We started for your place close to midnight.”

Sarah’s dark eyes sparkled. “Did you really take those horses from the Yankees?”

“Yes, but they’re on their way back to those thieves now. Darrick McDonald was waiting for them in Grammy’s barn.”

“Darrick?” Sarah touched Parmelia’s arm. “Oh, Parmelia. Is he still as handsome?”

She sighed, hating to admit the truth. “More. And taller. He sure fills out his uniform, too, but it’s blue.”

“Oh.” Sarah paused. “But he’s here, and you talked to him. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Before Parmelia had to answer, Rob slammed inside the kitchen. “That old cow’s still upset. Am I supposed to milk her or what?”

“I’ll get the pail for you.” Parmelia retrieved it from the screened in porch. “The stool’s still in the barn.” She clasped her hands. “Fresh milk. Oh, that will be wonderful. We’ve been without it for a month.”

Rob called, “We got to have hay.”

“Maybe she can eat the lawn tomorrow. I’ll try to barter some hay.” But who had any supplies except the Yankees? Sighing, she went back into the kitchen. She simply could not deal with another crisis today.

“I took off my extra clothes, but my hair’s a mess.” Sarah stood at a small mirror over the washstand and smoothed curls of brown hair from her face. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think my teachers at Thorndike Academy of Young Women would approve of my appearance.”

Parmelia looked at herself over Sarah’s shoulder, then gasped. What must Darrick have thought of her? She told herself she didn’t care then admitted she did. She’d been so careful about her appearance when he’d called on her years ago. He must think she’d turned into a hoyden. Peering at her rough hands and broken nails, she thought maybe she had. Oh, what did it matter? Forcing back tears and regrets, she pulled at her men’s britches and curtsied to Sarah. “I don’t think anyone from Mrs. Carrington’s School for Young Ladies would even speak to me.”

They broke into giggles and went in search of Katie and Nancy.

I hope you'll want to purchase LONG WAY HOME, a bargain at only 99 cents. Remember that this is a novella, so it's a fast read at just under 20,000 words. The buy link at Amazon is:

http://www.amazon.com/LONG-WAY-HOME-ebook/dp/B005HQYUSK/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1327094984&sr=1-5

Smashwords is http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/108471

Thanks for stopping by!

LIVING IT UP (AND HAUNTING) AT THE BAKER HOTEL

2012-01-20T10:45:00.000-06:00

Mineral Wells, Texas today

THE SETTING
How about a tour of a lovely West Texas city? Set amid the Palo Pinto Mountains, Mineral Wells, Texas is one of the places my husband and I drive for a few hours’ getaway. Although the surrounding terrain looks like hills to most folks, the height and manner in which they were formed makes them genuine mountains. They were named by Native Americans for the fall colors on the profusion of spindly scrub oaks Individual peaks in the range include Sugarloaf Mountain, with an elevation of 1,462 feet above mean sea level; Antelope Mountain (1,321 feet); and Crawford Mountain (1,470 feet). The local terrain is surfaced by shallow, sandy soils with some clay, in which grow oak, juniper, and mesquite. This is the setting for my work in progress, BRAZOS BRIDE an near where my contemporay time travel romantic suspense OUT OF THE BLUE is set.

The largest town in Palo Pinto County is Mineral Wells. Very aptly named for the large mineral content of the water. In fact, the water was responsible for the town when James Lynch laid out the town and became it’s first mayor. For more information on Crazy Water and Lyncg, See Celia Yeary’s January 18th post at http://sweetheartsofthewest.blogspot.com for more information.

People drinking from Mineral
Wells' Crazy Water Pavillion

THE HOTEL
But the title of this post mentions the Baker Hotel, doesn't it? One of my favorite places in Mineral Wells is the Baker Hotel. It rises fourteen majestic stories. Don't laugh. True that's not so tall by most city standards, but dwarfs the mostly one- and two-story buildings around it. My family had driven by the hotel whenever we traveled west on Highway 180 from the DFW Metroplex and I was impressed with the sight of this tall building amid smaller ones--and curious about the interior. The architectural style is a favorite of mine and the same as Texas Tech University and my former high school, Lubbock High.

The Baker Hotel

I was fortunate to tour the Baker Hotel on a Heritage Society Tour several years ago. Seeing inside the hotel saddened me. One speculator had almost gutted the place selling off fixtures, carpets, and anything marketable. After that, he deserted the hotel and vandals and vagrants moved in.

Lobby as it appeared in 1929

Lobby today. Sad difference!

THE PAST
At one time, "the Baker," as locals call it, had a full spa, solarium with tanning beds, ballrooms, meeting rooms, restaurant, swimming pool, bowling alley under the swimming pool, garages, and big name celebrities entertaining guests. It boasted extravagant creature comforts such as an advanced hydraulic system that circulated ice water to all 450 guest rooms, lighting and fans controlled by the door locks that shut off and on automatically when the guest left or arrived in their rooms, and a valet compartment where guests could deposit soiled laundry that was accessible by hotel staff without them ever even having to enter the guest's room. The hotel was fully air conditioned by the 1940s, which added to its appeal as a top-notch convention attraction, offering a meeting capacity of 2,500 attendees--a remarkable number considering that in 1929, Mineral Wells was home to only approximately 6,000 residents.

The Baker also generated its own power. Two huge generators located in the basement supplied the hotel power requirements. Certain hotel areas allowed unseen access to rooms and other locations by the employees.

Swimming pool over tunnel to garage
and over full-sized bowling alley

Glen Miller Orchestra

Even though it opened mere days after the 1929 stock market crash, the Baker enjoyed immense success throughout the 1930s, largely due to Mineral Wells' growing reputation as a top tier health spa destination. Several notable celebrities made the Baker a temporary home during their visits to the city's health spas; the star-studded guest list (and entertainers for the lavish supper club and ballroom) included the likes of Bob Hope, Glenn Miller, Lawrence Welk, Clark Gable, Judy Garland, and future U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson. It is even rumored by local historians that legendary outlaws Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow may have spent a night or two at the Baker.

The story of the Baker Hotel begins in 1925, when citizens of Mineral Wells, concerned that non-citizens were profiting off of the growing fame of the community's mineral water, raised $150,000 in an effort to build a large hotel facility owned by local shareholders. They solicited the services of prominent Texas hotel magnate Theodore Brasher Baker, who had gained notoriety by designing and building such grand hotels as the Baker Hotel in Dallas, the Hotel Texas in Fort Worth, and managed the Connor Hotel in Joplin, Missouri. Construction began the following year on the grand and opulent structure; it would rise fourteen stories over Mineral Wells, house 450 guest rooms, two ballrooms, an in-house beauty shop, and other novelties such as a bowling alley, a gymnasium, and an outdoor swimming pool (added to the plans by Theo Baker after a visit to California). Completed three years later with a cost in 1929 dollars of $1.2 million, the mammoth building instantly dominated the city skyline and was the first skyscraper built outside a major metropolitan area

T.B. Baker began to suffer financial difficulties in the early 1930s, eventually declaring bankruptcy in 1934. He passed control of the Baker Hotel to his nephew Earl Baker, who had served as the hotel's manager as well as managing director of Baker's Gunter Hotel in San Antonio. Despite its owner's financial problems, the Baker Hotel continued to thrive throughout the mid 1930s. As the decade came to a close, however, Mineral Wells' reputation as a health spa was in decline. Advances in modern medication and the discovery of antibiotics such as penicillin lead local doctors, who had been encouraging patients to partake in the area's therapeutic waters, to invest more confidence in medicine. Business suffered, until a second boom in the Baker's popularity occurred when the Fort Wolters military base opened nearby in October, 1940. It was home to the largest infantry placement in World War II, and the hotel enjoyed its greatest popularity and success as a result. Throughout World War II, the transient and permanent population of Mineral Wells hovered near 30,000, a large number of them making their temporary homes in the Baker.

After the war ended in 1945, Fort Wolters was closed and again business suffered. A smaller renaissance came in 1951 when the Wolters facility was reopened as a helicopter base. The Baker hosted the Texas Republican Party conventions in 1952 and 1955, and the Texas Democratic Party held their convention at the Baker in 1954. Aside from these successes, business declined steadily through the 1950s. Earl Baker announced that he would be closing the hotel after the passing of his seventieth birthday in 1963. True to his word, Baker shuttered the building on April 30 of that year, bringing an end to thirty years of service to Mineral Wells and surrounding areas. The hotel re-opened in 1965 when a group of local investors leased the structure from the Baker family. But the revival was be brief. Earl Baker died of a heart attack in 1967, after he was found unconscious on the floor of the cavernous Baker Suite. In 1972, the Baker closed its doors for the last time.

THE HAUNTING

Of course, the Baker has at least one resident ghost. People report seeing a ghostly female figure walking the halls. Are you frightened? There are several interesting stories about the hotel itself. One concerns Mr. Baker's mistress, who lived on the 7th floor. She committed suicide and her ghost is said to still roam the hotel, but especially the 7th floor. The feminine presence there is said to be hers.the room she stayed in, apparently quite comfortably, was a suite on the southeast corner of the seventh floor. Many have reported smelling her perfume and her spirit is said to be quite flirtatious with men she may fancy.

Another story tells of a intoxicated woman who tried to jump into the swimming pool from the 12th floor ballroom balcony. Naturally, she was killed. The gangsters Bonnie and Clyde have also been rumored to haunt the Brazos room and ballroom. There are many other stories, but space doesn't allow their dicsussion today. Those interested may check the Southwest Ghost Hunters report at http://www.sgha.net/baker/baker.html and another at http://www.castleofspirits.com/stories04/bakerhotel.html.

THE FUTURE

For years, friends of the Baker have tried to find investors to purchase and restore the hotel to its former beauty. Hallelujah! Contractors have been surveying the place for about a year now, sizing up everything from its electrical and plumbing systems to its compliance with modern-day building and fire codes. If they get started remodeling the place this spring as planned, it'll be ready to open in spring 2013. The estimated $54 million price tag to get the place up and running again includes outfitting it for business as a modern spa and hotel.

I eagerly look forward to the time when this beautiful old building is restored.

Thank for stopping by!

SUSAN MACATEE FIGHTS AND WRITES THE CIVIL WAR

2012-01-18T01:07:00.001-06:00

Thanks, Caroline, for hosting me on your blog today.

I thought I’d talk about what led up to the creation of my new post Civil War romance release, CASSIDY’S WAR.

Susan and her husband as Civil War reenactors

Before I began writing toward publication—I’d dabbled for years, but only had a few pieces published in school papers or amateur fanzines—my husband became enthralled by the Ken Burns documentary about the American Civil War.

Susan and husband outside
an antebellum home

This led to family trips to Gettysburg, followed by his finding a local Civil War reenacting group in Philadelphia. Once he joined, he decided the whole family had to get involved. So, in order not to spend most of my weekends from spring through fall home alone, I became a civilian reenactor.

Civil War reenactor musicians

I had to do research and learn how to dress, what to eat and what appropriate activities the wife of a soldier would be involved in while in camp. It was a lot of fun and I learned many things that ultimately ended up in my stories set during the War.

Civil War ball gown

While all this was going on, I was working on children’s books. My first book was a ghost story set in the 19th century, but was never published. I did write a short young adult story set during the Civil War that ended up in one of those little magazines that only paid in copies.

When I decided to write a young adult novel, I used that short story as the basis for my novel. UNDER THE GUNS was ultimately published. It was the story of a young woman and her brothers, as well as one of their childhood friends. The young men joined the Union army and the girl, in time, was able to work as a nurse in the Washington hospitals and later as a battlefield nurse. Her brother’s friend, who she’d known since childhood and considered a nuisance and outrageous flirt, wound his way into her heart after being nearly killed at Gettysburg. She nursed him back to health and fell in love only to nearly lose him again when he was captured by Confederates.

Lady's fan

When this book went out of print and I got the rights back, I thought about trying to get it republished, but decided writing a brand new story about these same characters at a later age, would be a lot more fun.

Victorian lady's hat

My new release, CASSIDY’S WAR, is the story of these same characters five years after the first book ended. My first challenge was to tear the couple apart before the new story began.

My idea was to have the hero, George Masters, suffer from a condition we associate with modern soldiers, but it happened to Civil War soldiers as well. Post traumatic stress disorder caused George to leave the heroine, Cassidy Stuart, days before their wedding and shortly after he returned from prison. He left town and wandered the country, at first living in a drunken stupor, then straightening up enough to earn his living as a professional gambler. And to make him more heroic, he’s persuaded by an old army buddy to seek employment at the Pinkerton Agency. When the story begins, he’s returned to town, five years after he left. But he’s now working undercover as a Pinkerton agent.

Although writing a whole new novel was a lot of work, I did enjoy working with ready made characters on this brand new story. And since the characters are directly affected by the Civil War, my knowledge of that tumultuous period helped to make the characters ring true.

Available now!

And now CASSIDY’S WAR is available for the world to see. I have a gorgeous cover and I hope readers will enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Blurb: The Civil War is over, but CASSIDY’S WAR is just beginning.

Cassidy Stuart longs to attend medical school. Training beside her physician father and serving as a nurse during the war have only increased her desire to be a doctor with her own practice. When the man who left her at the altar returns, she’s determined not to let him upset the plans she's set for herself.

Until his mission is accomplished, George Masters must hide his identity as a Pinkerton agent as he investigates a physician living in George's former hometown, a short distance from Cassidy's home. When he finds Cassidy hasn’t married, he hopes he can rekindle their love while trying to protect her and the townsfolk from the evil Dr. Madison.

Can their love be renewed despite the villain's desire for revenge against them both?

Excerpt from CASSIDY'S WAR:

He propped her against the wall, removed his hat, and lowered his mouth to hers. Before she could utter a protest, his tongue pressed against her lips, trying to push them apart.
She shoved with all her strength. "Dr. Madison! I must insist you take me home. Now!" She struggled to keep her breath even as she watched his smoldering expression grow cold.

He leaned away from her, pushing his hand through his hair, then settled his bowler back on his head. "You must forgive me, Miss Stuart. I should never have taken such liberties. But your beauty has mesmerized me."

"Please take me home. Now."

Madison tightened his grip on her wrist. Movement outside the alley drew her startled gasp.

George raced to her side and yanked Madison's hand from her arm. "Take your hands off her, you filthy scum!"

Madison's eyes widened. "See here!"

Before he could utter another word, George raised his fist and slammed it into the doctor's face.

"George, don't!" Cassidy cried.

George paid no attention. Madison growled and swung at George. He ducked and the doctor swung again, this time connecting with George's jaw and knocking them both to the ground.

The two wrestled and grunted, rolling around in the dirt.

Cassidy stepped to the edge of the alley, her heart thudding. No pedestrians strolled by. Wringing her hands, she turned back. She had to stop this herself.

"Will you please stop acting like school boys or common ruffians?" She glared at them, hands fisted on her hips.

"I won't let you hurt Cassie, you pompous ass,' George ground out.

"Looks to me like you already have," Madison spat.

George swung and connected with the doctor's nose.

A loud crunch drew a gasp from Cassidy.
George glanced up, his lip curled upward. He rose to his feet, breathing hard.

Dr. Madison lay flat on his back, cradling his bloodied nose in both hands.

"George Masters!" Cassidy glared into his dark eyes. "Just what are you doing?"

"He—I..." George arched a brow. "He had you alone in a dark alley. What am I supposed to think?"

She lifted her fisted hands to rest on her hips. "So you punched him?"

"Well...he hit me, too." He rubbed his jaw.

CASSIDY’S WAR available from The Wild Rose Press http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=176_135&products_id=4729

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Cassidys-War-ebook/dp/B006VX48FS/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&qid=1326644295&sr=1-1

and Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cassidys-war-susan-macatee/1108210226?ean=2940013754980&itm=1&usri=susn+macatee
Find out more about me, read the opening chapters of my new release and learn about my other books at my website: http://susanmacatee.com

My thanks to Susan for sharing her writing and reenacting experiences with us. Remember that the Amazing Author Event continues:

Jan. 18. SG Rogers - http://childofyden.wordpress.com

Jan. 19. Linda LaRogue - http://lindalarogueauthor.blogspot.com

Jan. 20 Jacquie Rogers - http://romancingthewest.blogspot.com/2012/01/jacquies-amazing-authors-event.html

Thanks for stopping by!

MARY MARTINEZ INTRODUCES MR. ROMANCE

2012-01-16T00:57:00.012-06:00

Mary Martinez

Thank you, Caroline, for inviting me to visit your blog. I love blogging about myself. Yes, I’m totally self centered. I’m long winded and I bore people to death with my enthusiastic words about nothing. Okay so I’m joking. Really. I hope. Now I’m worried. Before I make matters worse, I’d better just start.

Caroline asked me to share how I researched for one of my books. I picked CLASSIC MURDER: MR. ROMANCE. Why? Because I had a blast doing the research for the book. Without giving away the story line, I’ll tell you a bit about what was so fun.

The story has a lot to do with old classic Cary Grant movies, as you’ll see from the blurb. When I came up with the idea, which was actually while I was watching one of his movies, I thought hey what if… And I can’t say more than that. I rented as many of his movies as I could and I watched them all. I had a note pad next to me and made notes throughout the movies. It was a Cary Grant Marathon. I loved every minute.

After I finished, I was actually sad. I had pages of notes. The next couple of days I went through, crossed out what I couldn’t use and highlighted what I thought would work. I went from there. I write by the seat of my pants with just a basic idea of the beginning the middle and almost the end. If it’s a murder mystery, I never know who the murderer is until I find out writing the book.

Here’s a bit about CLASSIC MURDER: MR. ROMANCE

Blurb:

Adam enjoys a lifestyle most men only dream of. Then one day he wakes up to find the morning headlines blaring, "Another victim falls prey to Mr. Romance. Who is next?" He suddenly realizes his way of life is not only frivolous, but deadly.

Dubbed Mr. Romance by New York society for his romantic adventures, Adam Fernando Russo loves women. But lately he realizes how lonely it is coming home to an empty house. Can he settle for only one woman? After he makes a list of qualities worthy enough to merit giving up his desirable existence, suddenly recipients of his coveted attention mysteriously fall prey to a murderer. The murders seem unrelated with one exception--all the victims have recently returned from a fabulous weekend rendezvous with Mr. Romance.

Adam’s assistant, Katie Sinclair, knows Adam is innocent with airtight alibis. The police are at a loss so Adam and Katie work together to discover the link between the murders. As luck would have it, their plan to prove the murderer is copying classic Cary Grant movies goes astray just as Adam realizes his perfect woman has been by his side all along.

To see the trailer and read an excerpt: http://www.marymartinez.com/mrromance.html#video

Buy Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1610343352/bookstrand-20

Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/classic-murder-mary-martinez/1102627855

I also have a big announcement to share with all of you. And yes you are the first, unless you’ve been to my web site already.

Coming Soon The Beckett Series!

DISAPPEAR (Book 1) Release March 2012.

There will be a Kindle giveaway in honor of the Series release! Watch my web site http://www.marymartinez.com/ and blog http://marysbooksblogger.blogspot.com// for details!

Caroline thank you, again, for inviting me. I have had a great time today.

Mary, Cary Grant was one of my all-time favorite actors. And how exciting for you to have a new series in the works. Thank you for sharing with readers today! We’ll be watching for more news of The Beckett Series.

Please remember that our Amazing Author Event is in progress. I'm including yesterday's author, Cathie Dunn, because I neglected to give her url yesterday. Here's the lineup:

Jan. 15. Cathie Dunn - http://cathiedunn.blogspot.com

Jan. 16. Maggie Toussaint - http://mudpiesandmagnolias.blogspot.com

Jan. 17. Patsy Parker - http://plparker.blogspot.com

Jan. 18. SG Rogers - http://childofyden.wordpress.com

Jan. 19. Linda LaRogue - http://lindalarogueauthor.blogspot.com

Jan. 20 Jacquie Rogers - http://romancingthewest.blogspot.com/2012/01/jacquies-amazing-authors-event.html

Jan. 21. Karen Nutt - http://kmnbooks.blogspot.com/

Jan. 22. Anna Kathryn Lanier - http://annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com/

Jan. 23. Barbara Edwards - http://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com

Jan. 24. Ginger Simpson - http://mizging.blogspot.com

Readers, please return Wednesday or Thursday for a chat with my friend Susan Macatee. Thanks for stopping by!

MARY ADAIR SHARES HER PASSION

2012-01-13T09:17:00.001-06:00

Mary Adair

Today I’m happy to welcome my first ever critique partner, Mary Alice Adair. We joined Romance Writers of America and a local Fort Worth chapter at the same time. Each of us had a burning desire to create stories and have them turned into published books, but didn't know the first thing about technique, craft, character arc, yada yada. We still do have that fire to create books! Hopefully, we have each improved our craft along the way. Mary writes Native American historical romance, much based on family research that includes both Cherokee and English ancestry.

Much to my sorrow, Mary moved from my area to Eastern Oklahoma. Selfish of me to wish her still here, because she and her husband live in a cottage on the side of a beautiful mountain forest where they have dogs, chickens, and a menagerie of animals. Mary is a skilled medical technologist who works as radiologist at the local hospital. She has regained the rights to her first two books and published them on Kindle. She'd like to tell you about them today. Introducing you to my friend, Mary Adair is my pleasure.

Caroline: Readers love to get to know authors. Please tell us about growing up.

Mary: I was actually raised by foster parents. My first set, the only parents I called Mommy and Daddy, raised me from the age of about 18months to 8 years old. Mommy was a full blood Native American, and Daddy was Chief of Police in the small town where we lived. When I was 8 years old, Mommy died from cancer. Daddy died from a broken heart the next year. I actually found out not too many years ago that Mommy was related to me, though I don’t know how and no one is living now that can tell me.

After my parents died I went to live with Mommy’s grown up and married son, Gary, his beautiful wife and their two younger girls. I grew up in a rural area just outside of the little town where Mommy, Daddy, and I had lived. When I wasn’t enjoying playing with my two younger sisters, I was riding my horse. I stayed in this family until I grew up and married my very own Prince Charming.

Caroline: When you’re not writing, what’s your favorite way to relax and recharge?

Woods near Mary

Mary: I love to read and I love movies. I also enjoy walking in the woods, so I guess it is a good thing I live in the country.

Caroline: I love country life, too. Would you like to share any guilty pleasures that feed your muse?

Mary: I don’t think this would fall under “guilty,” but I love to sit on the porch with my husband and just talk about my stories, the characters, and my plot. He has such an imagination and it always amazes me how much history he knows. On second thought, maybe I should feel guilty. My husband is wonderfully patient with the time I spend with my characters.

Caroline: How long have you been writing?

Mary: I think my joy of writing started when I was very young. I remember writing little stories and reading them to Mommy. She always made a big deal of each story. When I went to live with Gary, I would write stories for the girls.

Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Mary: I do not need music, quite or solitude, though all those are nice. When I’m planning a book, I write on paper napkins, gum wrappers, the edge of a newspaper, the palm of my hand, any surface I can find. This all while sitting in a movie, eating at a restaurant, or pretending to be listening or paying attention to whatever I am supposed to be doing at the time. I use both a PC and laptop.

Caroline: Are you a plotter or a panzer?

Mary: Great question! I love to plot, but it has to work with my title, which I choose first. Then of course, there are those many wonderful scenes that came to me while standing in the grocery check out or while I was feeding the chickens or pretending to listen to the news. Of course, none of them work with the plot, so you just have to change it or add to it. I think that makes me a plotting panzer.

Caroline: I think they call that being a plotzer. I have been so impressed with the details of your research. Tell us about the research you did for this series. Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Mary: I love to write stories that are historically correct. My first book was very loosely based on an ancestor of my husband’s. Some of the things I read about him would put Indiana Jones to shame! When I wrote about my main female character, I thought about my biological sister and how I think she would react or what she would do in that spot. I knew my sister growing up, but we were not raised together and did not see each other often. After we grew up, we have made it a point to get to know each other. She has told me a lot about her life when we were apart, and I can see how she has become the brave and self-reliant person that she is. I wanted New Moon to have her spirit and her beauty. I also looked back at the love shared by my Mommy and Daddy and drew on that as well. Oh my, does all this make me a romantic plotting panzer?

Caroline: What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Mary: Shear enjoyment. I want to bring joy, excitement, a bit of fantasy, adventure, mystery and always a happy ending.

Caroline: What long-term plans do you have for your career?

Mary: I plan to create and tell stories for as long as I live. It would be nice if everyone that read one of my books enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, but even if not everyone enjoys my books, I will still keep writing.

Caroline: Me, too. I think I’ll have to live to be 200 years old to get all my current ideas written. Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Artist's rendition of a Cherokee
village like the one in PASSION'S VISION

Mary: I am working on book three of the Passion series as well as a Fantasy Adventure. There is also an inspirational story tugging at my heartstrings, so I may have to bring it up on the list.

Carolyn: What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Mary: Never, never, never give up.

Caroline: Oh, yes, the famous quote by Winston Churchill. I believe that’s true. Tell us about your rerelease.

Mary: Here's the blurb:

PASSION'S PRICE is the story of a woman willing to pay any price to realize her passion and a man who will deny his own passion to keep her safe.

The Great Spirit has blessed Golden Dawn with a gift of visions. A vision sends Dawn to England to protect her childhood friend, Little Buffalo. Will she be strong enough to stand between Buffalo and the danger threatening him? Can she convince her beloved Buffalo their paths are destined to be joined forever?

Raven Cloud is the adopted son of James Fitz-Gerald. He came to see himself as a half-breed savage who doesn't fit into the white man's world or the red man's world. Because of his rebellion he was asked to leave the village shortly after earning his warrior name Raven Cloud.

Excerpt:

Raven turned his attention to his mysterious visitor. "How may I be of assistance?" His eyes focused on her veiled face. He felt a twinge of familiarity and the heaviness of the bad wind threatened his balance.

The woman lifted the veil. What greeted him were eyes shining with the warmth of a summer sky. There was a spark of mischief in their blue depths, and he thought at once of another pair of blue eyes. His head swam when he noticed strands of dark golden curls beneath her bonnet that gently kissed her cheeks and clung to her neck. His throat tightened.

Then she smiled...and he knew.

"Dawn?" his voice cracked.

"Yes, Buffalo, it's me."

It took only a moment for Raven to regain his composure, yet it felt like a lifetime. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in his most commanding tone. Her response did little to ease his confusion.

"I came because you need me."

She'd changed little since he last saw her. She'd grown, most definitely, but her ability to toss him right over the edge with simple statements, spoken as if nothing else needed saying, remained.

"What?" He turned on Thomas, "What in the world is she talking about? Why have you brought her here? Does her father know?"

"Not exactly. Now settle yourself." Thomas took Dawn by the arm and shoved her behind him.

Dawn pushed at Thomas and resumed her position before Raven. She stood straight and tall, and tiled up her chin. "My mother knows I'm here."

There it was again, her one sentence 'that's all you get' answer. Raven scowled at Thomas.

Thomas slapped his hands together and chuckled, "Well, now that we have everything all straightened out, I must get Dawn settled in a room."

"You will get her settled right back on the Golden Lady, or whatever other ship you were so foolish to bring her here on..."

"Well, yaw see, I can't do that. The Golden Lady will be leaving in the morning to make a very important pickup. A pick up that is of no concern to you, because the Golden Lady is Dawn's ship. And, I might add, the one ship in James's fleet you have no control over or interest in." He hooked his thumbs in his belt and chuckled.

"Stop that, Thomas," Dawn scolded…

Caroline: I love that book, but I recommend readers start with book one, PASSION'S VISION. Even though the books are stand alone, I like the continuity of beginning with the earliest story. Besides, at this price, why not buy both? Where can readers find your books?

Mary: Here are the links:
PASSION'S VISION is at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006QQ0LVA

PASSION'S PRICE is at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006UKCAG6

Caroline: Anything else you’d like readers to know? How can readers learn more about you?

Mary: My website is www.maryadair.com and I'm on Twitter as @maryadairdotcom

Caroline: Mary, thank you for being here today and sharing your passion (pun intended)

Readers, please return on Monday when another Mary visits, Mary Martinez. In the meantime, please remember our Amazing Authors Event is ongoing through January 24th. Here's the lineup:

Jan. 13. Beth Trissel (historical & light paranormal romance) http://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/
Jan. 14. Roseanne Dowell (romance)
http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com

I'll include links for the following next week:

Jan. 15. Cathie Dunn (historical fiction & romantic adventure)
Jan. 16. Maggie Toussaint (romance & mystery with a Southern dash)
Jan. 17. Patsy Parker (paranormal fantasy romance)
Jan. 18. S.G. Rogers (fantasy, romantic fantasy, young adult fantasy)
Jan. 19. Linda LaRoque (western contemporary & time travel romance)
Jan. 20 Jacquie Rogers (dragons, princesses & romance)
Jan. 21. Karen Nutt (paranormal romance)
Jan. 22. Anna Kathryn Lanier (sensual contemporary & historical westerns)
Jan. 23. Barbara Edwards (riveting romance with an edge)
Jan. 24. Ginger Simpson (historical & contemporary romance)
On the last day of the tour, Ginger Simpson is going to post some fun and easy questions you must answer for the chance to win free reads. (Hint: there will be a link to each author’s post so you can quickly double check).

Thanks for stopping by!

AMAZING AUTHORS' TOUR

2012-01-11T01:57:00.060-06:00

Hello, and welcome to my latest blog event. Several of my friends and I decided to participate together in sharing our works with you, and at the same time provide an opportunity for you to win one of several e-books we'll be giving away at the end. Yes, I'm counting myself as amazing on this Amazing Authors Tour, and I hope you agree. To participate in the event, all you need to do is follow the link daily through from January 12th through January 23rd. You'll find a link for the next blog at the end of this post. At the tour's end, you'll be asked a few questions based on our blogs. Easy, peasey, right?

To increase the appeal of my backlist title, THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND, I have redone the cover with the help of Romance Novel Covers and Jimmy Thomas. I love the new cover's whimsical appearance, don’t you?

This book is dear to my heart and I hope readers love it as much as I do. I enjoy books in which a man who thinks he’s unredeemable finds redemption with the love of a good woman. Don’t laugh and say it can’t happen, because this has happened to people I know. Each of is capable of leaving the bad events in our past behind and moving forward with a new spirit toward a fulfilling life.

I received part of the inspiration for the hero while in a church service. This, I believe, demonstrates that God does have a wry sense of humor and can use any situation. Surely this book's theme of redemption must appeal to Him. Please realize I don't mean that in a blashphemous way.

When it was first released, THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND received a 4 1/2 Stars Top Pick review from Romantic Times. Wahoo! And it's available for only 99 cents! This is book 2 in the Kincaid series, following characters introduced in THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE.

THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND blurb:

Sarah Kincaid

Sarah Kincaid wants only the simple things: a home, a family, and a place in the community where she can set a good example and lead a moral life. She launched her plan by establishing a school for the poorest children in the county. When she discovers her mother is dying, she goes to St. Louis to aide her mother and later settle the estate. Sarah’s reaction to Nate shocks her. Unknown to her, he is the son of her mother’s late husband Cal Batholomew. Nate uses the last name of Barton in his con game with the Kincaids and their neighbors. Tall, dark and unmistakably tempting, Nate is a gambler by trade--and hardly an upright citizen. To counter her unbidden and decidedly scandalous feelings for him, Sarah vows to reform him and finds him an eager pupil.

Taking in a trio of starving orphans on the run from an unsavory man is hardly the way to conduct a romance. Sarah and Nate soon learn that the only proper thing to do under the circumstances is to let love take them where it will, and get ready for a passionate adventure. Reforming a rogue is easier said than done, and Sarah and Nate learn a great deal about themselves and others in their journey!

Here’s an excerpt from THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND of a scene in which Peter Dorfmeyer, an univited but persistent suitor, calls on Sarah while Nate is also visiting:

Maria met her with a tray of tea and slices of chocolate cake left from dinner. Sarah thanked her as she took the tray and retraced her steps to where she’d left the two men. Nate sat in an armchair by the fireplace looking as if he owned the world. He smiled as she came in, jumped up, and took the tray from her. Peter’s rigid posture kept him on the edge of the sofa, his face stiff with disapproval.

Nate Bartholomew

Nate placed the tray on a table and Sarah prepared to serve. A herd of small boys raced across the foyer. Luke and Joe left the others to venture into the living room. They stood near Nate and stared openly at Peter.

“Would you boys ask Cindy to come here for a minute, please, and come back with her?” Sarah asked.

She served the men while she waited for the children.

The boys soon returned with Cindy in tow. Apparently the girls had been playing dress up. Cindy wore an old dress of Pearl’s and carried a parasol. A long feather bobbled over the brim of the large-brimmed bonnet tied to her head. Her feet were poked into a pair of Sarah’s shoes, clumping as she dragged them to keep the shoes from falling off.

“Peter, this is Cindy, Luke, and Joe. Children, this is Mr. Dorfmeyer. He manages the bank in town.”

Cindy curtsied and each of the boys gave a little bow. Curiosity filled their faces as they glanced from Peter to Nate and back to Sarah. Cindy lifted the front of her skirts and clopped regally to Nate, her dress hem dragging behind her.

“Hello, Princess Cindy,” he said as she climbed onto his lap and snuggled against him.

She giggled. “You always call me that, but we’re playing house. I’m the mother. Katie and Beth have to mind what I say.”

Sarah smiled at them, bursting with pride at their behavior. She ruffled each boy’s hair and walked to lift Cindy from Nate’s knee. She gave her a kiss on the cheek when she set her down. “Thank you for coming to meet Mr. Dorfmeyer. You may run along and play now.”

The boys rushed outside and Cindy clomped toward her room to rejoin Katie and Beth.

Peter’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “More of your students, I suppose?”

Sarah picked up her teacup. “Oh, no. Those children are mine.” How wonderful to be able to say those words.

“Yours?” he stammered. “That’s impossible.”

“I found them on their own in Memphis and brought them here with me. In fact, Mr. Barton assisted me. I’m adopting them.”

“That’s hardly proper. I mean, it was bad enough you’ve built that school and insist on teaching those ragamuffin children there.” His face had grown red and he looked about to suffer apoplexy.

Sarah paused, her cup halfway to her lips, then returned the cup and saucer to the table. “I beg your pardon. What do you mean, ‘bad enough’ I built my school?”

She had suspected his intolerance for those less fortunate than himself, but Peter had never been so open about it before. How could a man who’d had all the advantages of life begrudge any child the opportunity to read and write? Many of her friends thought Peter handsome. For the first time, Sarah noticed Peter’s brown eyes were a bit too close together and his eyebrows rode like furry caterpillars across his brow.

“Well, really, Sarah.” Peter shrugged. “It’s not as if you’re helping them. After all, teaching them to read and write only raises false expectations for those people.”

Sarah fought her temper, but it boiled inside her. Who did Peter think he was, talking about “ragamuffins” and “those people” as if they were of no consequence? She believed every person, no matter how destitute, had the same rights. How could Peter talk as if the poor were somehow less human than those more fortunate in society?

Nate stiffened, but said nothing. He regarded Peter as he might an annoying insect just before he gave it a swat.

With an even voice belying her inner turmoil, she asked, “What sort of false expectations, may I ask? Do you think reading, being aware of the world around them, is somehow hindering their well being? Do you mean to imply that the ability to count money so they’re not cheated is wasted?”

She watched Peter now, examining his appearance. He definitely had a weak chin. Worse, she feared he had no compassion. She almost felt sorry for anyone so shallow and with so little feeling for his fellow man. Almost.

Peter pursed his lips and poked his nose in the air. “Well, really, my dear, they’re hardly likely to use those skills, now are they? The boys will become ranch hands or some such and the girls will clean their own houses or someone else’s and have a dozen children. Never have enough money to bother counting.”

“You don’t know that. And what if it’s true? School will enrich them in ways that will remain with them throughout their lives. You don’t even know the children at my school.” To her knowledge, he’d never even been in the schoolyard.

“Nor do I wish to. And now you’ve brought children you know nothing about into your home. It’s commendable for you to feel sorry for them, my dear, but surely you don’t intend to carry through with this adoption thing?” He speared a bit of cake with his fork as if he discussed the weather, not lives.

“I’ve already asked Gabe to draw up whatever legal papers are necessary. The process will soon be complete.” She wanted to say more, wanted to slap that pompous smirk from his face, but kept her anger in control. After all, this man was a guest in her sister’s home.

Peter’s face turned red and he set down his plate. “That simply won’t do. No, it won’t do at all. Hardly fitting for a woman of your station. You must keep in mind the man you marry will want his own children, not a group of orphans bred in who knows what circumstances.

Nate stood and opened his mouth to speak, but Sarah interrupted. “The man I marry will welcome my children, and these three are my children.”

Peter dusted a crumb from his cuff. “They hardly fit in with a banker’s image,” he spoke as if he addressed a simple child. “Now, don’t worry your pretty head about it, my dear. Leave it all to me. We can place them in a good home. You’ll soon see it’s best for everyone.”

Fury seized control of her, a ferocious anger so great she found it hard not to strike Peter. He talked of the lives of her children as if he were placing a litter of kittens.

She stood, her hands on her hips. “Of all the nerve! For your information, they are in a good home. Peter Dorfmeyer, you are a pompous ass! Leave this house now and do not return.”

Peter’s face registered shock and he spluttered, “My dear, you don’t know what you’re saying. Why, with your family connections and mine, we’d make a highly suitable union.” He shot Nate a seething glare. “It’s obvious you’ve been unduly influenced by outsiders. You’ll come to your senses in time.”

“Out!” she yelled and pointed to the door.

Nate stepped forward. The look on his face made it obvious he intended to hasten Peter’s departure.

Peter picked up his hat and crossed the flagstone floor. He turned and pointed at Nate. “You haven’t heard the last of me, Barton.” He turned back and stomped out.

Nate followed him to the door and closed it firmly behind Peter’s retreating figure. Sarah collapsed back onto her chair. Since her money was in his bank, the chances of her escaping an encounter with Peter were nonexistent. She’d avoid him whenever possible, though, from now on. She might even move her funds.

Nate rejoined her and sat in the chair facing hers. He smiled and she saw the tenderness of understanding reflected in his gaze. “Lovely visit, wouldn’t you say?”

Haven’t we all known stuffy and judgmental so-called “good” people like Peter, as well as interesting and compassionate flawed people like Nate who amaze us? Nathaniel Bartholomew believes himself unworthy of a woman like Sarah, but she believes there’s a good man inside him. He continues to prove himself until even her family members are cheering for him. Until even he realizes that he's on a new and permanent path that leads to happiness, a family, and a place in the community. Oh, but the bumps along the way test Nate and Sarah almost beyond endurance. I hope you’ll cheer for him, too. If you read the book and like it, would you leave a review on Amazon?

Here are the buy links at Amazon Kindle and Smashwords

But Wait! There's more.
On Friday, January 13, please visit my friend Beth Trissel's blog at
http://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/
Beth is the next author on our Amazing Authors Tour, and she is definitely an amazing author! I love all her books, plus she is a wonderful person. Can't beat that combination. I always enjoy a book more if I know the author is a nice person, don't you?

Thanks for reading!

THE MOST FAMOUS WOMAN IN 17th CENTURY AMERICA!

2012-01-09T01:13:00.017-06:00

Hannah's statue in
Haverhill, Massachusetts
shows her holding scalps
and a tomahawk

Usually, I talk about Southwestern events, places, or trivia. Today's post is one I originally wrote for the Hearts Through History online chapter of Romance Writers of America blog, Seduced By History. Forgive my reusing the story now, but life has interfered with art again and I’m under the weather. Besides, I was very impressed with this woman, who was once called “The Most Famous Woman In America.”

Ever heard of Hannah Dustin? In her lifetime, folk figure Hannah Emerson Dustin became a role model for pioneer women as her exploits spread across Anglo America. She is the first woman in the U.S. to have a statue erected in her honor. In fact, she has two statues . . . but I’ve gotten ahead of the story.

The time is March 15, 1697 and toward the end of King William’s War. When she learned they were being attacked, Hannah urged her husband, Thomas, to take their other eight children, aged two to seventeen, and flee to the nearby garrison and safety. Reluctantly, he left her in order to save their children. Less than a week after the birth of Martha, her ninth child, forty-year-old Hannah and her young aunt who cared for her, Mary Neff, were captured by Abnaki at Haverhill, Massachusetts.

For fifteen days the Abnaki marched the two women north and into New Hampshire. On the way, the Abnaki smashed baby Martha to death against an apple tree. Taken with at least ten other people from Haverhill, those who couldn’t keep up the Abnaki’s pace were killed. Hannah and Mary were parceled out as slaves to another Abnaki group consisting of half a dozen adults and several children, including an adolescent captive boy, Samuel Leonardson, who had been taken from Worcester eighteen months earlier.

The band set up camp at the conjunction of the Merrimack and Contoocook Rivers (now known as Dustin Island) near what is now Boscawen, New Hampshire and near Concord. One of the Abnaki men told Samuel that they would soon be moving to Canada where the captives would be stripped and forced to “run the gauntlet.” The white women knew they would never live through that experience.

Hannah Dustin, Mary Neff, and
Samuel Leonardson escape

As the story goes, Hannah led a captive rebellion. One of the Abnaki men had been teaching Samuel to fight and had showed him how to kill with a tomahawk. Hannah, Mary, and Samuel tomahawked ten Abnaki men, plus two women, and several children to death as they slept. They left only one elderly woman and a small boy. Hannah had the foresight to take scalps before leaving the enemy camp.

Hannah, Mary, and Samuel scuttled the enemy canoes except for one, which they used to travel down river at night. They reached Haverhill in three days. After some weeks of recovery, the now famous trio traveled to Boston where they requested bounty money for the scalps. The Massachusetts Bay courts had enacted a bounty on scalps in 1694, but it had been repealed. However, the Massachusetts General Court made an exception for Hannah and her two companions.

Accounts vary, but the most widely mentioned is that Hannah received twenty-five pounds and Mary and Samuel each received half that amount. In 1697, that was a considerable amount of money.

Hannah's statue at
Boscawen, New Hampshire

Hannah became famous for her escape and exploits. A statue of her stands in Haverhill, Massachusetts showing her with a tomahawk in one hand and scalps in the other. Another statue is located in Boscawen, New Hampshire, site of the escape. Her story is retold in “The History of Haverhill, in “Notable American Women,” in Henry David Thoreau’s “A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers,” by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and in Laurel Ulrich’s “Goodwives” and other accounts too numerous to mention. In some accounts, Dustin is recorded as Dustan, Durstan, or Duston.

Hannah's grave. She died in 1737

Was she a heroine or a murderer? Don't view her from a politically correct perspective, but from the ideas and practices of colonial life. Imagine the grief of seeing your baby killed in front of you, of watching others murdered because they couldn't keep up the pace. Imagine her concern for her other eight children and her husband. Were they all right? Who was helping care for them? None of us knows whether or not we could have followed in her steps. Would I have been able to kill and then scalp people? I don't know, but I doubt it. If they stood between me and my family, and to protect my aunt and a teenage boy, perhaps I could. It's hard to imagine ourselves in that terrorizing setting.

Regardless of your thoughts on whether or not you could follow her example, don’t you agree she was a formidable woman?

Please also stop in to visit me Tuesday, January 10th, at Calisa Rhose’s blog at http://calisarhose.wordpress.com/chit-chat/.

And please return here on January 11-12 for a new post and a chance to win lots of free books with the Amazing Authors Tour.

Thanks for stopping by!

COOL STUFF TO MAKE YOU WAY SMARTER!

2012-01-06T00:51:00.017-06:00

See how I tricked you into reading about one of my favorite animals, bats. No, don’t stop reading, please! If you continue to the end, I have a gift for you.

Bat populations are declining worldwide, mostly due to myths and misconceptions. Over half the bats in the US are listed as rare, threatened, or endangered.

Months and months ago, Darling Daughter 2 and I attended a seminar on bats at Weston Gardens in Fort Worth. Dottie Hyatt, Vice-President of Bat World in Mineral Wells, Texas (www.batworld.org) brought several bats and lots of information. Darling Daughter and I learned so much cool stuff that I’m going to share some of it with you.

Amanda Lollar, Bat World
founder, and a friend

In 1994, Amanda Lollar officially founded Bat World Sanctuary, the organization’s first sanctuary for non-releasable bats. For two years previous to that, she had been working to save bats and had sold everything she owned to purchase a building to house them. She has since become an internationally recognized expert on bats.

Here are some facts that Dottie Hyatt shared about bats and Bat World:

1. Bats are an integral part of most ecosystems, yet they are the most misunderstood animal on earth. Only through education can we change ecological devastation going forward. Bats are the greatest pesticide available to mankind.

2. There are over 1100 species of bats in the world and only three are vampire bats, limited for the most part to Latin America. Vampire bats are very small and do NOT attack humans. They prefer to get their teaspoon-sized meals from other animals. The remaining 1097 bat species eat insects, fruit, nectar, and pollen. A few species eat fish and frogs. Insect-eating bats eat billions of tons of insects each summer. They protect our crops and keep costs down at the marketplace. Fruit bats bring us over 450 commercial products and 80 medicines through pollination and seed dispersal. Over 95% of rainforest regrowth comes from seeds that have been spread by fruit bats.

3. Bats don’t carry rabies. They are capable of catching the disease just like any other mammal. In reality, more people die annually from contact with household pets than have died with contact from bats in all of recorded history. Misconceptions about bats are due in part to Hallowe’en lore that presents them as scary, blood-sucking creatures that carry rabies. In fact, less than one-half of one percent of bats contract rabies. This doesn’t mean it’s okay to touch or handle bats. They may be afraid and bite in self-defense. Bats are wild animals and all wild animals can be dangerous. Grounded bats are more likely to be sick and should never be rescued bare-handed.

4. One bat can eat up to 5,000 mosquitoes in a 24-hour period! The little animals are very vulnerable to chemicals, however, because they groom themselve fastidiously. If you spray for mosquitoes and other insects, you are likely to also kill bats and prevent them from acting as living pesticide and pollinators.

By Phil Myers, Museum of
Zoology, Univ. of Michigan,
shows above right the likeness
of bat wing to human arm/hand

5. Bats are very clean. They spend enormous amounts of time grooming, much like cats do. They are intelligent and have a sense of humor. Amanda Lollar has had them play tricks on her that would astound everyone. Ms Lollar says “They’re the least appreciated mammal on the face of the earth.”

6. Bats are not flying mice. They are not even remotely related to rodents. In fact, they are built more like a human, and their wing bones are like those of a hand and arm. They are so unique that scientists placed them in a group of their own, Chiroptera, which means hand-wing.

Bats compared to
man and birds

7. Bats are not blind. Most bats see as well as humans. Fruit bats also have eyesight adapted to low light, much like cats, and many see in color. Numerous bats also use echolocation to catch insects and fly at night.

8. Bats are shy, gentle, and highly intelligent. They are among the slowest reproducing animals on earth. Most bat species have only one live young per year. The average life span of a bat is 25 to 40 years!

9. Bat guano (poop) is the highest nutrient fertilizer available. You can buy it from your plant nursery or from Bat World. Diluted with water, it provides beneficial fertilizer, or it can be spread undiluted on flower beds. According to Dottie Hyatt of Bat World, guano will not burn plants.

10. Bats don't try to tangle themselves in a human's hair. If a bat swoops nearby, no doubt he's after a mosquito buzzing near the hair. Mosquitoes love hairspray and perfume, and bats love mosquitoes. To get a human's attention, a bat circles in a narrowing arc until it brushes the human's shoulder.

Golden crowned fruit
bat ready for sleep

Bats are the only mammal capable of true flight. Other animals (like flying squirrels) only glide for short distances. Bats don't wave their entire forelimb as birds do, but flap their spread digits, which are covered in a thin membrane.

At rest, after grooming itself, the bat folds its wings around it to sleep.

Hundreds of bats from around the world have found permanent refuge at Bat World's indoor, natural habitat facility. These non-releasable bats include those that have been used in research, retired from zoos, orphaned, permanently injured or confiscated from the exotic pet trade.

Bat World is located in Mineral Wells, Texas and serves as headquarters for the organization. Aside from this initial facility, Bat World has established 17 rescue centers across the US. Bat World Sanctuary has been featured on television programs on the Discovery Channel, 20/20 Downtown, Animal Planet, Nickelodeon, the CBS Early Show and Late Night with David Letterman

What a cute guy!

Darling Daughter One gave me a bat box and Hero mounted it on a pole. Instructions for building a bat box are available online from the National Wildlife Federation or Bats Northwest. You can purchase the bat house already built the Organization for Bat Conservation. The house must be mounted at least ten feet from the ground to give the residents distance to swoop. Bats don’t take off from the ground, but drop to begin their flight.

Since you've stuck with me this far, let me know which of my Kindle or Smashwords books you'd like and your email in a comment and I'll send you a pdf of that book.

Thanks for stopping by!

A TOPSY TURVY WEDDING DAY

2012-01-04T00:41:00.001-06:00

When I wrote HAPPY IS THE BRIDE years ago, my editor wanted an historical version of "America’s Funniest Home Wedding Videos" TV show. So not my style, but I got as close as my conscience would allow--with the help of my kind friends at Yellow Rose RWA Chapter. At our October writers' retreat, the editor had just dropped her bomb on the content, and I was still shuddering. By this time, as is sometimes the way of editors, the deadline was only four weeks away. Yikes!

Sure, this is my friends and me? What,
you don't believe we look like this?

My friends met the challenge and helped me plot this sweet romance novella, sharing their own wedding horror stories. Who knew there could be so many wedding-related disasters? I had anecdotes left over as I set to work with fingers flying across the keyboard. Here’s the result:

Blub for HAPPY IS THE BRIDE:

Beth Pendleton is tired of the gossip her three failed engagements--each arranged by her pompous father--have created. She knows she’s not a jinx, an Ice Queen, a snob, or any of the other hurtful labels slapped on her. She takes food to the ill, serves the community in numerous ways, and is active in church. For her twenty-eight years she has tried to please her demanding parents. Neither her mother nor her father has ever had an encouraging word to say to her. Spiteful comments from her only cousin incite Beth to take charge of her fate. She proposes to Mason Whittaker, her lifelong friend and champion.

Mason Whittaker, is a hero after any woman’s heart. Carrying on his father’s ranching tradition, he has strong family ties. Unlike Beth’s critical parents, Mason’s mother and father are loving and kind and he has a close knit extended family. As long as Mason can remember, he’s been in love with Beth. The only time he loses his temper is when he hears someone speak ill of her. But he’s learned to count to ten--or twenty--to curb his anger. He never believed he’d be able to marry her. Her proposal astonished and pleased him. But wait...did she mention love?

Will Mason marry Beth and put an end to the gossip? Uh oh, what about that silly bet Beth made with cousin Rachel that Beth would be wed by the end of June? What will Mason think if he learns of her impetuous gamble? But Beth’s bet is not the only hazard to their wedding. Murphy’s Law is working overtime as Beth and Mason battle outside forces to create their happily ever after.

Cover photo is of an historic church
about three miles from my home

Excerpt of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE:

Mason took Beth's hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. "Let's take a stroll by the river."

She looked back at the chapel, knew she should help her mother, and weighed her mother's irritability against her own desire to walk with Mason. He put his hand over hers, and that contact swayed her. Instead of the comfort his touch used to arouse, currents of lightning shot through her.

Why would an engagement make a difference between her and a friend of more than twenty years?

All she knew was that since she'd proposed to Mason, her reaction to him had changed. His presence incited escalating odd sensations, and she had the most scandalous thoughts. She questioned whether he had the same thoughts, and the heat of a blush reached her cheeks.

There hadn't been time for proper courting. He'd called on her, but other than the day she proposed to him, they'd had no time alone. Her parents accompanied her to his home and that of his parents. When he called on her, one of her parents remained in the room. A hasty kiss on the cheek was all he'd given her, but his soulful looks let her know he wanted more.

Her breath hitched, and she struggled to keep her eyes averted for fear he might read her mind. Her mother said a lady never had thoughts of the flesh, yet Beth couldn't stop dwelling on it. Would he be scandalized? Right now she wondered how his lips tasted.

Mason guided her under the back edge of the building between two of the stone columns and pulled her into his arms. "Forgive me, Beth, I can't wait for this any longer."

Strawberry jam.

He tasted sweet as the jam she'd given him last week. She melted against him, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the line of her lips, and she opened to his invasion. She gasped, but his tongue probed against hers and created a pool of warmth low in her abdomen. Her knees threatened to give way, and she clung to him.

Surprised at the giddiness his action evoked, she soon matched his thrusts with her own tongue. Dear heaven, the thoughts that aroused. A pulsing, aching heat built in her private place. Much more of this and she'd burst into flame.

One of his hands caressed her breast, and new tingles shot through her. He broke contact with her lips to murmur between kisses to her neck, "I can hardly wait to view these beauties tonight."

She looked up at him. "V-view them?" She whis-pered, "You mean see, um, see me without clothes on?"

He smiled. "Yes, that's what I mean. Not a stitch on either one of us, just like God made us."

"Is that proper?" Panic seized her. Right now she wanted to give Adam back his rib.

But then Mason moved his hand across her nipple, those tingles changed to jolts of pleasure, and she reconsidered. Maybe this man-woman thing wouldn't be too bad, in spite of what her mother said.

Mason's other hand cupped her bottom and tucked her into him. She sensed a hard bulge pressing against her as he resumed their kiss. It must be his man thing, and she worried at the size of it. How could that fit inside her?

Breathless, she broke the kiss. He pulled her to him and cradled her head against his chest. She slid her arms around his waist and savored his embrace. In spite of her worries about tonight, in his arms she knew peace.

He kissed her temple. "Can't tell you how much I've needed this. I've dreamed of us alone in our own home tonight."

That's when they'd come together. But Mason wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She trusted him.

"I look forward to it, too. We make a fine couple, and we'll have a good life together." She raised her head and asked the question that had worried her since she'd proposed to him.

"Mason, you're not sorry you said yes, are you?" She knew he'd never go back on a promise, but it worried her that he might regret that he'd agreed to wed her.

He brushed his lips against hers in a soft, sweet kiss. "I'm only sorry we've wasted years when we should have been together. We belong with one another."

"I'm relieved you feel that way." She sighed and nuzzled into him. "In spite of all the talk, I'm feeling very lucky right now."

"Not nearly as lucky as me. I've wanted this as long as I can remember."

Thunderstruck, she looked up at him. He wanted her? "Mason, you never said. Why didn't you tell me long ago?"

"I couldn't. You were so all-fired set on pleasing your folks by going to that fancy school up north. Then when you came back, well, I thought you were too fine a lady for the likes of me."

Did Mason think her a snob? The suggestion created a ball of worry hi her. "How could you think such a thing? If—if I gave you that idea from anything I said or did, then I apologize. There's no finer man anywhere than you, Mason."

He pulled her back to his chest, and she heard him exhale, a great whoosh of breath, as if he'd been holding in the air. "I thought you deserved a whole man, someone not hampered by a limp."

She pushed away from him with her hands rested on his chest. "Mason Whittaker, don't ever let me hear you say another word against yourself. I'm real sorry about your leg because I know it pains you, but that doesn't make you less of a man. In fact, you've achieved success in spite of being slowed by it, so that makes you twice the man of anyone else I know."

He pushed a stray curl from her face. "You always championed me. Guess that's one reason why I love you."

He loved her.

She didn't know what to say. Mason Whittaker actually said he loved her. She should answer him. But how? Instead, she clung to him, pressed herself against him, and held on. Dear Lord, and she'd asked him to marry her because of a bet. She should tell him, confess right now. But she knew his temper and his hard-shelled pride. If he found out, that pride of his would drive him away. She couldn't bear another cancelled wedding. More, she couldn't bear losing Mason as her best friend and their future together.

Now she was forced to face the question of whether she loved Mason as a man or just as a friend? She hadn't considered that. She'd been so determined to show her cousin Rachel and stop the laughter and humiliation that she hadn't stopped to consider the consequences for Mason.

How selfish she'd been. The knowledge made her ashamed of her hasty proposal. Then she remembered that when she decided to find her own groom, she hadn't considered anyone but Mason.

Did she love him?

Mrs. Pendleton's shrill voice saved Beth from answering Mason.

"Bethaneeeeee. Where are you?"

"Oh, no, we'd better go around by the wagons. Mother sounds upset with me." She loathed breaking contact with him, but stepped away. "Soon I'll be out of yelling distance, even for her." She laughed, wishing it were funny instead of sad.

Nothing she did would ever please her mother. Heaven knew she'd tried for twenty-eight years. She couldn't remember one time when her mother had a kind word for her, not even one.

Mason grabbed her hand. "Knowing my temper, I can't promise I'll never yell at you, but I give you my word I'll try not to."

"You haven't yelled at me yet And I'll try hard to be the best wife in the world, the kind you deserve."

Mason loved her.

Why hadn't she seen that? He'd always been so thoughtful of her every wish, listened to her secrets, took up for her against anyone who said hurtful things to her.

"One more." He swept her to him in a fervent embrace.

Beth slid her arms around his neck. Who would have dreamed kissing Mason would render her into a melting puddle? But it did, and she wanted to continue for a long time.

She wanted him to touch her breast again. Did that make her wanton? Her mother insisted only harlots enjoyed the things that went on between men and women.

Someone coughed. "Boss?"

Mason and Beth jumped. She knew her face reddened at being caught in Mason's arms.

Rowdy pretended to look away. "Mrs. Pendleton made me come fetch you two back up there right away. She seems all het up, and I reckon you'd better hurry along before she has a spell or something."

"Thanks, tell her we're on our way." Mason took Beth's hand and smiled. "In a few hours, no one can interrupt us."

His words gave Beth hope. They rounded the corner pillar and climbed the slope to the front of the chapel.

At the buckboard, Mason held her hand and looked into her eyes. "Guess Rowdy and me better get this straw spread. I'm expected at my folks later this morning."

Mrs. Pendleton tapped her foot. "Straw's not necessary, but if you've nothing better to do, I suppose it won't hurt."

Rowdy helped Mrs. Pendleton and Beulah climb onto the buckboard. Beulah took the reins, but smiled at Beth and Mason and waited patiently.

Mrs. Pendleton snapped open her parasol. "Bethany, we don't have time to dally all day."

Beth sighed, wishing as she had many times that her mother was a kinder, more patient person. No matter, soon she and Mason would answer only to each other. Mason still held her hand, and she squeezed his fingers before she pulled free. "I have to go."

Mason pecked her on the cheek. "Yeah, I know, but it won't be long until we're wed." He helped her up and stepped back. "See you later."

Beth waved. "In a few hours." She thought ahead to tonight when they'd come together and knew she blushed.

His eyes darkened. Plainly, his feelings matched hers. She recalled his words about seeing her naked and wondered how her body would look to him. Would she disappoint him?

Beth hoped not. All her life she'd disappointed her parents, though she tried hard to please them. She had no intention of disappointing her husband. Would being a good wife be as impossible as being a good daughter?

HAPPY IS THE BRIDE is available for only 99 cents at:

Smashwords and Amazon. Don’t be shy...rush over and buy your copy. You can hardly beat the price!

Thanks for stopping by.

HUMOROUS HISTORY OF PUBLISHING

2012-01-01T18:09:00.002-06:00

History of Publishing. . .According to Earl Staggs, Mystery Author

Long, long ago, a bunch of us were sitting around the cave telling stories to each other and a guy we called Hiero came up with an idea.

"Hey," he said, "we should preserve these stories on rocks."

Earl's early
chiseling

So Hiero came up with a bunch of symbols for animals and fish and birds and people and other things. We invented a hammer and chisel and started chiseling our stories on rocks using the symbols. Since Hiero made up the symbols, we called them Hieroglyphics.

I was just a kid then, but I studied hard and became a chiseler.

Then one of the women fell on a basket of grapes and squashed them into liquid and one guy said, "Hey, we can use that to draw our stories on the cave walls." We took some hair from a mastodon’s leg, tied it to a stick, and used it as a brush. Soon we learned to drop women on other fruits and berries and came up with other liquids. We named it ink, and soon were drawing our symbols all over the cave walls.

That went fine for a while until some guy invented something he called paper. He said, "Hey, let’s paint our stories on paper."

A guy over in the corner named Webster said, "Hey, that’s fine, but enough with the symbols. Let’s use words. I just made up a whole lot of them and someday everybody will be using them."

So we invented pencils and pens and started drawing words on paper. That became very popular, once you got the hang of picking the right words.

Now, some people were better than others at picking which words to use. Webster came up with a word for what we were doing. He called it writing. The ones who were good at picking the best words became known as writers. I was tired of chiseling, so I studied hard and became a writer. It was tedious work doing one page at a time, though.

A few months later — and you’ll notice I’m condensing the time frame to make this move a little faster – a guy named Gutenberg invented a machine he called a printing press. What a boon that was! Put words in a flat plate, smear ink on it, and print thousands of pieces of paper. Oh, my. We were on a roll.

Then another guy had the idea of putting those pieces of paper in a pile and gluing them together. His name was Booker, so we called them books.

About the same time, a couple of guys named Royal and Underwood invented gadgets called typewriters. That made it a lot easier for writers to write books.

That was great. Soon we had stacks and stacks of books. Remember Webster, the guy who came up with all those words? Even he got into the act. He gathered up all his words, put them in a book, and called it a dictionary.

But what to do with all those books? A guy named Barnes said, "Hey, I have an idea. I have a friend named Noble. We’ll go in together and open a store to sell the books."

Before long, we had huge companies called publishers cranking out books, and we had bookstores all over the world selling them. The whole system needed more people to make it work, so editors, distributors, shippers, and warehousers were born. Another group of people said, "Hey, we’re agents. You writers send us your stuff, and we’ll sell it to the publishers."

Yes, a lot of people were involved in the system, but it worked. Everybody was reading books.

No names, please!

Meanwhile, up in Seattle, a couple of kids named Jobs and Gates were putting things together called computers. Not the huge things big companies were using. These were small enough to sit on a desk and soon everybody had one. This made it even easier for writers to write. These machines could even communicate with each other over a web that covered the whole wide world called the Internet. Wow! Talk about progress.

Things were about to change, though. A guy named Amazon started selling books over the Internet. You didn’t even have to go to the bookstore. Just order them through your computer, and they’d be shipped to your door. This Amazon guy went one step further. One day, he said, "Hey, look what I invented. I call it a Kindle. I don’t have to ship the books to you anymore. I’ll just send you the words and you read them on this thing. We’ll call them ebooks."

Remember those guys named Barnes and Noble? They said, "Hey, we have one of those, too. We call it a Nook." Soon, there was a bunch more of them. A lot of people weren’t reading printed books anymore. They were reading ebooks in the palm of their hands. Talk about change!

More changes were coming, though. A bunch of writers were sitting around one day and one of them said, "Hey, we don’t need agents and publishers and distributors and all those people. Let’s publish our ebooks ourselves. Since all those other people won’t be getting any of the pie, we can sell them for only a couple bucks and still make more per book than before."

And that’s how it all happened and that brings us to where we are today. Writers have a choice of going the traditional way through agents and publishers or we can publish our own ebooks.

No one knows what changes the future will bring. It could be the entire publishing industry will crumble, and we’ll go back to preserving our stories on rocks. If that happens, I’ll be okay. I still have my tools and I can be a chiseler again.

If you’ve read all the way to here, you now know everything I know about publishing. If you’re still in the mood for reading, here are some things you can read right now. Just click on the links.

MEMORY OF A MURDER. A mystery novel with a long list of Five Star reviews. Click to read Chapter One.

SHORT STORIES OF EARL STAGGS. A collection of 16 of my published short mystery stories in an ebook. A variety of stories ranging from hardboiled to soft to humorous. Click on "Earls Short Stories" for more information. Now on sale for .99 for all ereaders.

Click on "THE DAY I ALMOST BECAME A GREAT WRITER" and read the free story some say is the funniest one I’ve ever written.

There’s also "WHITE HATS AND HAPPY TRAILS" about the day I spent with a boyhood idol, Roy Rogers.

Thanks for visiting. Good reading and good writing to you, and let’s make 2012 the best year ever for all of us.

Earl is not originally from Texas, but he got here as soon as he could. And in the ten or twelve years I've known him he's always been this serious, solemn man even though his friends have encouraged him to lighten up. He's a Derringer winner for his short stories, a speaker, and teaches workshops. He and his wife live in Fort Worth, Texas.
　
Earl, thanks so much for visiting and sharing your historic expertise with us.

Readers, thank you for stopping by, too.　

JUMPING INTO TROUBLE

2011-12-30T00:23:00.004-06:00

Hunkered down in my writer’s pink cave, I have the privilege of torturing characters before giving them a happy-ever-after ending. Except for villains, of course, who never win because this is (drum roll) fiction. Authors also have the ability to hurl characters through time with the touch of a keyboard. My life is great, right? (Except that tonight, Blogger won't let me add images to this post. Grrr! I'll persevere until I can figure out why Blogger has gone maverick.)

Let me tell you about one set of characters I still love, even though OUT OF THE BLUE was released in 2010 from The Wild Rose Press.

Radford, Texas Police Detective Brendan Hunter is recovering from near fatal wounds received in the shooting that killed his best friend and partner. Brendan is called Mr. Squeaky Clean by his detractors because he never wavers from right. Yes, he’s a man who sees everything as right or wrong, with no maybe. But every man has a weak spot, and Brendan’s is his widowed mother, Blossom.

Blossom was only a teen when she showed up at a California commune cooperative farm. Trey Hunter joined more to thwart his wealthy, overbearing parents than because he believed in the concepts practiced on the farm. Brendan was ten when his dad was killed. In OUT OF THE BLUE, Blossom is a responsible health food store owner, but she still has the live-and-let-live outlook that led her to the cooperative farm all those years ago. While Brendan leans toward cynicism, Blossom is bubbly and optimistic.

I have to mention here that Hero and I love history, and we love visiting Ireland. Add to that a few members of our family who have "the sight," and you discover why I came up with Deirdre Dougherty, a clairvoyant Irish woman from 1845 who is accused of cursing the potato crop in her remote village. To escape a mob incited by her nemesis, Deirdre leaps from a cliff and plunges toward the Atlantic. By chance (and the fact that as her creator I can manipulate her fate), she plops down in 2010 Lake Possum Kingdom, Texas.

What would upset a by-the-book control freak more than someone who doesn’t fit the mold? What would confuse a psychic woman more than being thrust out of her element? Through it all, Blossom goes with the flow...and her beau, the local doctor.

Here’s an excerpt after Deirdre has started helping in Blossom’s store:

Blossom gave Deirdre the mail. "Do you mind, dear? I hate going out in this sticky heat. It frizzes my perm, but it seems to have no effect on your gorgeous hair."

"I’ll post these and be back in a minute to straighten the front display of that new organic salsa from Austin." Deirdre carried the letters outside and dropped them into the box on the corner across the parking lot. She turned to start back.

A huge black car apparently had been parked at the back of the lot by the Dumpster and pulled alongside her. She saw the dented fender before the door opened. Then she realized the two scary guys from the bar were inside, partially obscured from view by the tinted windows. The blond stepped out and reached for her.

She understood his intent so she screamed for help and ran away from him.

People came to the store window.

Polly rushed to the door. "Blossom’s calling the police. Hold on, Deirdre, we’re coming."

But no one rushed to her aid. What could a few ladies do against these two frightening men? She’d have to save herself, so she screamed again.

The blond caught up with her and grabbed her arm. "No use screaming, lady. You’re coming with us." He dragged her toward the car.

She kicked him and screamed again, clawing at him with her free hand. She drew blood along his arm and scratched his face.

He jerked her and grabbed both her hands. "You’re gonna be sorry you made me mad. I have lots of ways to get even." He told her what he planned as he yanked her toward the car’s back seat.

Strong as an ox, the man held her in an iron grasp so her feet barely touched the ground. He heaved her toward the open door.

Suspended above the ground, she braced a foot against the car’s body. With her other, she kicked him between the legs, just as Ma had taught her.

He turned red and released her as he doubled over and dropped to his knees. Without him supporting her, she hit the pavement hard. Her back took the force of her fall and the air whooshed from her. She couldn’t stand but she rolled away.

The driver pointed a gun at her. "Get in or you die right here, right now."

What had Brendan said about this situation when they watched television? Never get in the car with anyone.

But how could she resist without him shooting her? She recalled the blonde’s threats. If she had to die, she’d rather it be here quickly than at the hands of these two later. She made the sign of the cross and prepared herself for death.

A horn honked and tires squealed. Brendan yelled. "Deirdre, I’m coming."

Blossom and Polly hurried toward her, each carrying a broom and wielding it as if they intended to beat on the blond man. Several associates came with them and lobbed jars of something at the car. In the heat, the jars exploded like small bombs. After one loud crack, red oozed along the spider-webbed glass windshield.

"What the hell?" The scary man in black turned back toward the steering wheel. "Damn it, Rod, with or without her, get the hell in here."

She struggled to her knees then stood, backing away.

Apparently unable to straighten, the guy she’d kicked hoisted himself back into the car. He yelled, "I’ll get you for this, bitch. When I do, you’re gonna beg me to kill you before I’m through."

The black car took off with a squeal from smoking tires, dripping red salsa and leaving glass shards in its wake. The driver had his head stuck halfway out the side window, his front windshield obviously too damaged and dirty for the wipers to clear. Aromas from the salsa’s spicy contents filled the air—cilantro, tomatoes, chili peppers.

Deirdre fell in love with those scents.

Then Brendan was there, lifting her and carrying her to his car. He cradled her in his lap with the door open.

Blossom followed them and stood beside the car. "I called the police. We couldn’t think of any weapons but brooms and one-pound jars of salsa. Pretty feeble."

Polly hovered behind Blossom. The other associates had gone back to their duties. A dozen customers and people from nearby stores stood near the building in the shade of the overhang, talking to one another or staring.

"You were brave and clever," Deirdre assured Blossom and Polly then looked up at Brendan. "But they’d have been unable to stop the men if you hadn’t come."

He smiled. "It looks like you had them on the run, Mom. Salsa was a clever touch. Didn’t help the parking lot, though."

Polly said, "Oh, those horrid men, at least they’re gone. We’ll use the brooms to get rid of the glass and hope for rain. Otherwise, maybe we can talk the fire department into hooking up a hose and spraying the lot for us."

Deirdre nestled her head near Brendan’s ear. "The scary guy with the black hair had a gun. A broom and jars of tomato salsa are not much against a bullet. He could have killed everyone."

OUT OF THE BLUE is a time travel romance with suspense and humor. Hero says this is his favorite of the books I’ve written. I hope you will read it and let me know if you enjoy Brendan and Deirdre and their supporting cast. Available in print of e-book, you can find it at www.thewildrosepress.com/caroline-clemmons-m-638.html, and at Amazon and other online stores.

Happy New Year to you and yours. Stay safe and keep reading!
　

THE ADVENTURES OF JULIA AND JOHN EVANS

2011-12-28T00:42:00.002-06:00

Kokopeli petroglif
in New Mexico, like one
mentioned by Julia
Evans in the first
book of this series.

ANASAZI INTRIGUE
MONTEZUMA INTRIGUE
MAYAN INTRIGUE
By Linda Weaver Clarke
Published by Bedside Books,
Imprint of American Book Publishing
$19.95 each in print
(Coming soon, DESERT INTRIGUE)

Hero and I have hiked through many Anasazi ruins over the years including several trips to Pueblo Chaco, Hovenweep, and Mesa Verde (when you could still enter the big ruin). We love reading and studying about the mysterious Anasazi who built the homes and who often had complicated and amazingly advanced astrological theories. After all our studying and hiking, Hero and I love reading fiction set in the area once inhabited by these peoples. We also like reading archeological and historical non fiction of “those who came before.”

Linda Weaver Clarke

Research is important for any author. Linda Weaver Clarke’s extensive research is evident throughout her three books: ANASAZI INTRIGUE, MAYAN INTRIGUE, and MONTEZUMA INTRIGUE. Linda states in the foreword that she was a fan of the 80’s series “Hart to Hart.” (Heavens, has it been that long?) I loved that series too. Linda has conjured up John and Julia Evans as a less affluent and Mormon version of the Harts. Julia is a reporter for her local newspaper, The Dixie Chronicle. The couple’s three children appear in these wholesome books, particularly the third volume. Together, John and Julia thwart criminals and travel through the West and Mexico.

Here are the blurbs for the books:

ANASAZI INTRIGUE When a devastating flood wipes out homes in a small Utah town, residents are shocked by the news of a possible poison spill that also kills many of the fish and neighbors’ pets. No one knows what to think or do until Julia, the town’s newest reporter, jumps into action and begins her investigation. Quickly Julia realizes the story is much bigger and more dangerous than she first thought. As information unfolds, Julia and her husband find themselves on the run, trying to save their lives while finishing the story of a lifetime. Will Julia and John be able to get the scoop and survive?

MAYAN INTRIGUE The discovery of a priceless artifact puts Julia’s life in great danger! From valuable artifacts to shady businessmen, the Yucatan Peninsula becomes a dangerous vacation spot for John and Julia Evans. While on assignment for the newspaper, the Evans try to enjoy a romantic vacation among the Mayan ruins. When Julia accidentally comes upon a couple of suspicious men exchanging an item, she quickly turns and leaves but it is too late. As a reporter, Julia does not easily give up and her curiosity gets her and John in a mess of trouble. Before John and Julia realize what is going on, they are both in danger and find themselves running for their lives through the jungles of the Yucatan.

MONTEZUMA INTRIGUE When a leather parchment of Montezuma’s map is found in great-grandfather Evans’ old chest, April Evans and the Evans twins know this summer is going to be a memorable one. With Julia’s help, April and the twins convince John to go on a treasure hunt. Is Montezuma’s treasure a legend or reality? Whatever the case, John insists on keeping their little treasure hunt a secret. If certain people find out about it, the family could be in danger.

If you like inspirational romantic suspense with a Morman flair, then this series is for you. The buy link is http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Linda+Weaver+Clarke

Note: These books were furnished for review by the publisher.

Thanks for stopping by!

WHY WE SHOULD REVISIT THE CLASSICS

2011-12-26T00:40:00.005-06:00

Yes, Karen is in England here.
Her family feared they'd never
get their Anglophile home!

By Karen Wojcik Berner

Caroline, thank you for inviting me to guest blog today. I am very excited to be here.

When I was writing A WHISPER TO A SCREAM (The Bibliophiles: Book One), I knew I wanted to bring the main characters of Sarah and Annie together through a book club, but what kind?

Being an English major, the choice was obvious. What could be more fun than discussing the classics? After all, these novels have withstood the test of time and have been shared for hundreds of years.

Do you remember your first classic novel?

Mine was LITTLE WOMEN, which came from a huge box of books my mother had saved from her parents’ house. It was a hardcover, of course, with yellowing pages and a semi-cracked spine. Holding it in my ten-year-old hands, I remember thinking, “What the heck is this? It’s almost crumbling, for goodness sake.” I shrugged and dove in.

I spent the entire day immersed in the lives of Jo and her sisters. So vibrant! So entertaining! I could totally relate to them.

Wait a minute — a mid-1970s kid could identify with the Civil War-era March family?

That, my friends, is the magic of the classics. They tell fantastic tales that bridge time and still entertain us today.

Some expose societal ills and warn us against making the same mistakes. Harriet Beecher Stowe showed the evils of slavery in UNCLE TOM’S CABIN. Charles Dickens illustrated what happens when there is a vast disparity between the rich and poor through DAVID COPPERFIELD and OLIVER TWIST.

Others are shining examples of masterful writing, such as MRS. DALLOWAY. Reading Woolf reminds me how beautiful the English language can be. And no one blends a powerhouse storyline with gorgeous prose better than William Shakespeare.

Then there are the epic tales that still amaze me, stories that, although large in scope, still manage to connect to all of us on an individual basis. MOBY DICK, by Herman Melville, comes to mind here, as well as Homer’s THE ILLIAD and THE ODYSSEY.

At their core, the classics reveal universal truths of human nature, truths that do not change from decade to decade, from century to century. They are the very heart of literature.

The first novel the Bibliophiles read in A WHISPER TO A SCREAM (The Bibliophiles: Book One) is James Joyce’s A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN. Edwina Hipplewhite, the book club’s moderator, chose it because of its size, having wanted to ease the newly formed group back into the classics, not overwhelm them, which is a valid point. Some classics can take a lot of work, but they are well worth the effort.

A blurb of Karen's FROM A WHISPER TO A SCREAM:

Have you ever wanted something so badly it hurt?

Annie Jacobs has dreamed of the day she would become a mother since the first time she held her Baby Tenderlove doll. Unfortunately, biology has
not cooperated with her plan, and she finds herself dealing with a diagnosis of unexplained infertility instead of picking out baby names.

Across town, stay-at-home mom Sarah Anderson is just trying to make it through the grocery store without her toddler hurling a box of rice at a
fellow shopper. She is exhausted from managing the house, a first grader and a toddler, all without any help from her work-obsessed, absentee
husband.

When they meet through a Classics Book Club, each thinks the other one's life is so much better than her own. But is the grass truly greener on the
other side of the fence?

A WHISPER TO A SCREAM (The Bibliophiles: Book One) is available in paperback and e-versions at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Barnes and Noble:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/A-Whisper-to-a-Scream/Karen-Wojcik-Berner/e/2940012226655/?USRI=a+whisper+to+a+scream&itm=2

Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Whisper-Scream-ebook/dp/B003DQPKSK

Karen Wojcik Berner lives a provincial life tucked away with her family in the Chicago suburbs. If it was good enough for Jane Austen, right? However, dear Miss Austen had the good fortune of being born amid the glorious English countryside, something Karen unabashedly covets, so much so that she majored in English and communications in college. Like the magnificent Miss Austen, Karen could not help but write about the society that surrounds her.

The result is The Bibliophiles series of novels illustrating the lives of the members of a suburban Classics Book Club. The first, A WHISPER TO A SCREAM, centers on Sarah, a stay-at-home mother of two, and Annie, a PR executive with fertility issues, each of whom thinks the other’s life is far superior to her own. The second novel, set for a February 2012 release, is Catherine Elbert’s journey as she bounces from coast to coast in search of her true self.

To learn more about Karen, please visit her website, http://www.karenberner.com/.

And here's Karen's question for readers:

Which work of classic literature would you like to read again or take a stab at for the first time?

THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS . . .

2011-12-26T00:19:00.001-06:00

Santa is relaxing after his big day.

Mrs. Claus and the elves are busy cleaning up the mess under the tree.

Please return Wednesday for a visit with Karen Wojcik Berner.

A CHRISTMAS STORY OF NEW BEGINNINGS...

2011-12-23T00:33:00.002-06:00

One Good Turn

Wind pushed against the cabin door as a blizzard raged around the small structure. Battling terror, Abby laid another log on the fire and hoped she had wood enough to last through this storm.

Dear Lord, help us, I don’t know what we’ll do next.

“Aunt Abby?” She turned at the tug on her skirt. Her niece said, “I’m hungry.”

“Let me get you a bowl of soup, angel.” She brushed four-year-old Susie’s blond hair from her forehead. The child’s hair was like that of her mother’s and Abby’s, but Susie’s small body had lost weight this past month.

“Ma and Pa ain’t ever coming back, are they?” Ten-year-old Jimmy’s brown eyes accused her, as if she were privileged to secrets about his parents’ disappearance. His eyes were like his father’s rather than the deep blue of his mother’s family.

She touched his shoulder, knowing he thought himself too old for a hug. “We don’t know that, dear. Not for sure.” But she did. Parents didn’t leave for a week and stay away over a month, especially with Christmas only a couple of days away. Her brother-in-law, Norman, was lower than a snake in her opinion. But her older sister, Laura, would never willingly abandon her children—or her.

Jimmy crossed his arms. “Soon as this storm’s over, I’m setting out for town. Someone there will know what’s happened to them.”

“No, Jimmy, whatever we do, we stay together. No one in town will know any more than we do. If your parents were in Pleasant Springs, they would have come home before the storm hit. Once the weather clears and it’s safe to travel, we’ll all set out together.”

She ladled thin soup into bowls and set them on the scarred table. “Supper will warm your insides.”

Neither child complained about the poor fare. Jimmy was old enough to see their stores had all but disappeared. She knew he worried almost as much as she did. Abby pulled Susie onto the bench beside her.

They’d spooned up the last of their meal when a loud thump jarred the door. Susie yelped, and Jimmy rose and reached for his dad’s rifle. Though just a boy, he tried to be the man of the house. Abby’s heart pounded and her blood raced.

“Get behind me, children.” She slid off the bench. “Jimmy, don’t point the gun at the door in case it’s a friend. Wait until we see who’s there.”

“Might be a bear.” Jimmy said.

Abby strode to the door. “Far as I know bears, don’t knock.” Two-legged coyotes sometimes did, though.

Standing at the door, she called, “Who’s there?”

“Help,” a faint voice called and a lighter thump greeted her, sounding as if it were at the base of the door. Maybe a gunman kicked against the thick wooden barrier. “Help,” someone called again. Bracing herself, she raised the bar and opened the door a crack. A gloved hand flopped into the opening and slapped the cabin floor.

Abby yelped and threw the door open wide. She jumped into the snow that whirled in through the door. “Jimmy, put down that rifle and help me. This man is near frozen.”

With her nephew’s help, she tugged the man into the room. His lips were blue. He mumbled something, but she couldn’t make it out. She leaned near.

“Horses.” His word was barely a whisper.

“I’ll take care of your horses soon as we get you by the fire.” She was no fragile doll, but this man was big. “Help me, Jimmy. Let’s get him closer to the hearth.”

Susie squatted beside the visitor and peered at him. “He gots ice on him.”

“I know that, dear. While your brother helps me, why don’t you get me a couple of quilts?” Abby called, “The older ones” as Susie scampered away.

As soon as Abby had tugged the man well into the room and Jimmy barred the door, Abby set about shucking the visitor out of his coat, hat, and gloves. His long duster over a sheepskin coat had kept him from freezing, but she doubted he’d enjoyed his ride through the blizzard. She gasped as she removed his coat.

Blood!

“Look at that, Abby. He’s bleeding.” Jimmy pointed at the hole in the man’s shirt.

The bullet penetrated a couple of inches above and to the right of his heart. She wondered if it had missed his lungs. She leaned down and listened. He didn’t gurgle, so maybe it had.

“If the weather weren’t so cold, likely he would have bled to death.” She wondered if anyone was trailing the man. Was he a villain or a victim? For now it didn’t matter. She’d let no man die if she could help it. But with two children in her care and miles from any help, she’d be on her guard.

His Colt was stuck into his waistband, and she removed the revolver. Rising, she gave the gun to Jimmy. “Hide this in the cupboard where Susie won’t find it, then bring me some towels.”

She pulled the man’s boots from his feet and set the boots beside the fire to dry as Susie returned with two quilts. When the girl started to spread a quilt over the man, Abby held up a hand. “Not yet. I have to remove his wet clothes.”

Susie’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna see him nekked?”

Resigned to doing what she must, she shrugged. “Not if I can help it.” She felt his feet, and his socks were dry but cold as the ice that had clung to his coat.

“Here’re the towels.” Jimmy handed her three of the thin towels they used for drying off after bathing. “Susie, I’ll help Aunt Abby. You get back in case he wakes up.”

“I wanna see him nekked.”

Abby sent her niece a scolding glare. “Susie, no one is seeing anyone naked. Go up to bed. Either Jimmy or I will come tuck you in when we get this man taken care of.”

“Everybody’s always tellin’ me what to do.” Pouting, Susie clambered up the ladder to the loft.

Watching to make sure Susie didn’t fall, Abby was startled when the man grabbed her wrist.

“Horses.” His whisper was gravelly, as if he could barely speak.

She pulled from his grasp. “I’ll take care of your horses, mister, but we have to get you warmed up first.”

“No.” His pale blue eyes opened and bore into hers. “Now.” He made a futile attempt to sit up.

“I’ll do it, Aunt Abby. We still got a bit of feed left in the barn.” Jimmy pulled on his dad’s old coat. Tonight the fact the garment was several sizes too large would help.

“Wear your cap and pull it down over your ears. Be careful with the lantern.”

The man slumped back and appeared to pass out. Abby stripped him down to his union suit. He was a big man all over, she noted, blushing at her errant thoughts. She folded one of the quilts in half as a pallet and rolled him to get it under him, then tucked the other one over him to keep him warm.

By the time she’d finished and laid his clothes over furniture to dry, Jimmy stomped back in. “Mighty fine horses, two of ‘em. I left the saddles in the barn, but figured he’d want his rifle and saddlebags in here. Also had him a bedroll we might need.”

“Good thinking.” She shook out the bedroll and spread it oiled side up over the quilt. “I think he’s out for the night.” She glanced at a bundle Jimmy held under his arm. “What’s that?”

He grinned broadly. “Food! Aunt Abby, he had bacon, and real coffee, beans, flour, and meal. And canned milk and peaches.”

“Thank heavens!” She laid a hand at her throat. They were saved. Temporarily, at least, they wouldn’t starve. Her mouth watered at the thought of good food after weeks of almost nothing.

“We can eat a real meal tomorrow.” His eyes widened. “Sorry, Aunt Abby. I know you’ve made meals out of thin air.”

“You’re right, Jimmy. We haven’t had anything decent in quite a while. I’d tell you to help yourself now, but I think we should at least ask his permission.”

“Reckon he’s a robber?”

She shrugged. “How could we tell? Can you help me see if there’s any lead still in that hole?”

“Sure. Want I should get Pa’s whiskey?”

“Yes.” She grimaced. It was a wonder any remained in the bottle, the way Norman liked it. She gathered bandages, her box of medicinal supplies and anything she could think of she might need.

The man groaned when she used her knitting needle to probe for a bullet. She slid the needle under the lead and popped it out of the wound. “Hold his shoulders for me.”

When she poured whiskey on the opening, the man cried out and sent Jimmy tumbling backwards.

Abby glanced at her nephew. “You okay?”

“Caught me by surprise is all.” Jimmy blushed and stood.

A poultice of flour and gunpowder staunched the blood, then Abby bound the man with bandages.

She leaned back on her heels. “Go on up to bed and make sure your sister is covered. Reckon I better sit in the rocker in case he wakes up.”

“You want I should sit for a while first?”

Indecision struck her and she paused, chewing on her lower lip. “For a bit. I need to clean up this mess and get myself ready for bed.”

She picked up the things she’d used to treat the man’s injury and tidied the room. She cleaned the needle and stuck it back into the yarn beside the rocker. She readied for bed, but decided—with no telling who their visitor was—to sleep in her clothes. After brushing her hair, she plaited it for the night. When she’d gathered a quilt and pillow, she stepped into the main area from the curtained off section that served as her bedroom. She added another log to the fire and settled into Mama’s rocking chair, the only furniture Laura had brought from their home.

“Thank you, Jimmy. Check on your sister and go on to sleep so you can keep watch tomorrow.”

Her nephew climbed to the loft and she heard him moving quietly overhead.

She stared at the saddlebags and chewed on her lower lip. Didn’t she have a duty to her charges to make sure they weren’t harboring a criminal? She pulled the bags near and opened one side and peeked in. Two shirts, a union suit, a pair of trousers, socks. She shook out a pair of the socks and laid them aside. He needed those on his feet. The other side offered a packet of letters, two books, ammunition, and odds and ends. She looked at the name on the top letter. Zach Kincannon. Was that his name?

His coat pockets yielded a handkerchief, jerky, and a small book. She checked his shirt and pants and came up with a few more odds and ends—and a tin star with a dent in it. A Texas Ranger’s star. Looking at the dent and visualizing where he’d wear it, she figured it had saved his life. With a sigh she replaced everything except one pair of the socks. She knelt and slid them onto his feet, which were still icy cold. After tucking the cover more securely around him, she returned to the rocking chair.

Rocking to and fro, she gazed at the sleeping Ranger. His dark hair waved gently. Now that he was warmer, she saw his skin was well tanned. He was a handsome man. At least now she knew he hadn’t come here to kill them all in their sleep. Or she thought she did. He could have stolen the badge. Hmmm, somehow, she doubted it.

He was the kind of man she’d hoped to marry someday. Small chance of that happening stuck here in the middle of nowhere. If Laura hadn’t needed her help so much she would never have stayed all these months. As if she had anywhere else to go.

Perhaps she could teach school, work as a companion, or as a governess. She might find work in a store, but most storekeepers only had family help out in their place of business. Besides, Laura’s pregnancy and losing another baby meant she needed Abby’s help. Now unless she wrote to a matrimonial agency, she’d probably never marry. She admitted she’d never find a man she wanted who wanted her back.

Abby picked up her knitting and tried to concentrate on the sweater she’d almost finished for Jimmy’s Christmas. Poor kid usually had to do with his dad’s hand me downs. What had her sister Laura been thinking to marry that no-account Norman Martin? Now his selfishness had probably cost both of them their lives. If it hadn’t, she was likely to kill her brother-in-law herself when--if--he showed up. Her fingers knitted and purled long into the night as she worried about the people she loved and the one she didn’t.

She woke with a start, to find her knitting had fallen to the floor. The visitor sat propped against the wall and stared at her, his blue eyes red-rimmed but watchful. She gathered up the fallen knitting and only lost a couple of stitches. “I must have dropped off. My nephew looked after your horses. Can I get you some broth or water?”

“Please.” His voice rasped out hoarsely.

She hurried to the fire where the sorry kettle of broth set on the hob. She pushed the hob over the coals to warm the thin soup while she gathered a bowl, cup, and spoon. “We’re a mite short of supplies but your broth will be warm soon enough.” She turned to face him. “Do you mind if I use some of your coffee?”

He shook his head, his eyes watching her every move. He’d been polite. How many men said please out here? But his stare unsettled her. She dug out coffee and rinsed and filled the pot from the snow they’d left melting near the fireplace. When coffee was brewing, she wet a towel and warmed it, then gave it to him. “This might make your face feel better. We were afraid to rub your skin last night because you were so cold. I’ve heard rubbing near-frozen skin causes damage.”

He took the towel from her and wiped his face and hands. “Thanks.”

“This is Laura and Norma Martin’s cabin. I’m Laura’s sister, Abby Perkins. My niece and nephew, Susie and Jimmy, are asleep in the loft.” She waited for him to volunteer his name. When he didn’t, she tilted her head and smiled. “Your turn. Who are you and how did you come to be shot?”

“Name’s Zach Kincannon. Your brother-in-law shot me.”

She plopped onto the rocker. “What?”

“You heard me plain enough.” He still stared at her.

“W-W-Why would Norman shoot you?”

“I tried to arrest him.”

“Why?”

“Caught cheating at cards. Shot the men at the table, scooped up the cash, and ran.”

She leaped to her feet. “Has something happened to my sister? Is Laura all right?”

He motioned for her to sit. “She’s in the hospital in Denison. He left her half dead after he beat her. She told me what happened and that you were trapped here with the kids, few provisions and no mounts. Told me a lot about you and how you take care of her and the kids." He adjusted his position. "I tracked Martin until I caught him then headed for this place.”

Wringing her hands, she asked, “Will she be all right? How badly is she hurt?”

“She’s bleedin’ inside but the doc said she’ll likely heal. Won’t have any more kids, though. Looked like she’d been run over by a team of mules.” He adjusted his back against the wall and tried to sit up straight. “You haven’t asked about your brother-in-law.”

“You think I care what’s happened to that rat after what you just told me?” She gasped. “Oh, the children. How will I tell them?”

Jimmy came down the ladder. “Tell us what?”

Stalling to gather her thoughts, she poured a cup of coffee for Zach Kincannon. “Jimmy, this is Mr. Kincannon. He just told me your mom was injured and is in the hospital in Denison.”

Jimmy looked from Abby to Zach Kincannon. “Ma’s hurt? What about Pa?”

“He didn’t make it, son. Sorry.” Zach watched them over the rim of his cup.

“Pa’s dead?” His voice rose in a half sob.

Abby rushed to him and grasped his shoulders. “Think about your ma. She needs us to be strong for her. Soon as the storm’s over and Mr. Kincannon has gained some strength, maybe he’ll take us to her.”

“Yep. That’s why I brought an extra horse. Figured one kid could ride with each of us.”

Hugging a sniffling Jimmy to her, she met Mr. Kincannon’s gaze over her nephew’s head. “I can’t thank you enough for risking your life to ride through the storm to help us, especially injured like you are. There’s no way to make this up to you.”

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “One of these days when things are settled down, maybe you’ll think of something, me being single and all.”

The End—Or, Maybe It’s A Beginning

From our house to yours, have a Merry Christmas!

VONNIE HUGHES SHARES NEW RELEASES

2011-12-21T00:58:00.002-06:00

Vonnie Hughes

Today, Australian/ New Zealand author Vonnie Hughes joins me. Please welcome Vonnie!

Caroline: Where did you grow up?

Vonnie: I’ve spent most of my life in New Zealand, and we came to the Gold Coast of Australia only nine years ago. My husband and I (I sound like the Queen) have two adult sons, both married, and they followed us to Australia where we all live within a short distance of each other. Our sons married very interesting girls – one is Japanese and the other Ukrainian! We came to Australia for the more tropical weather and laid-back lifestyle.

Caroline: My husband and I have always wanted to travel to Australia. What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

Vonnie: The dog and I jog/walk together most mornings. We trot alongside the little marina or along the Broadwater under the trees. When nobody’s looking I do a few lunges or sideslips. That sort of thing relaxes me. I also go to the gym twice a week, but that does not relax me! This trying to keep fit and slim thing is a real bugbear. (I’m short). My other main hobby is reading and reading and reading. I’m also involved on the periphery of animal rescue, and I help out with the Romance Writers of Australia assisting with preparation for next year’s conference and judging and also proof-reading for their monthly magazine. I guess that’s umm…relaxing?

Caroline: Sounds pretty busy to me. Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

Vonnie: “Do as you would be done by.”

Caroline: What do you hope your writing brings to readers?.

Vonnie: Pleasure and the memory of an intriguing story.

Caroline: What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Vonnie: Keep trying. Never, never give up. Sometimes success comes at the oddest times. And remember, it all depends what you mean by ‘success.’ If you want to be on the NY best selling list, fine. If you want to write YA novellas for iPads, fine. You just do your thing.

Caroline: Good advice. What is something interesting you discovered while researching this book?

Vonnie: I am actually talking about two books at once, since both came out on the same day. One is a Regency and the other a Romantic Suspense. I found the research for the Romantic Suspense – LETHAL REFUGE from the Wild Rose Press – to be just as hard to track down as my Regency research. For the Regency, I used my favorite collection of 19th century references such as WELLINGTON’S PENINSULAR WAR, SOLDIER OF THE 71ST, and THE AGE OF ELEGANCE for information regarding the particular regiments that fought in various skirmishes and battles. Even though my hero spends only nine months there, it is essential to get the facts right. With regard to the contemporary Romantic Suspense that is set in New Zealand, my home country, I researched the police hierarchy online. Their police force is set up similar to the British one so sometimes I cross-referenced. It is a question of getting attitudes, practises and titles correct. Nothing worse than a police procedural set in the southern hemisphere that sounds like a Mickey Spillane novel.

Caroline: That would be odd. Tell us about your latest releases.

Regency: THE SECOND SON

THE SECOND SON is how Lord John Trewbridge inherits a marquessate for all the wrong reasons, and how Marguerite Ninian, a disabled woman, teaches John to forgive himself.

When he came upon the scene of the accident, his heart caught in his throat. The farmhands had set flares around the over-turned phaeton, and in the blackness it looked like a scene from Hell as men heaved and tugged, trying to free Spencer who was trapped beneath the cross-struts.

It was a bad situation. Had Spencer been caught beneath a wheel, they could have lifted the high-perch phaeton off him. But he was caught fast beneath the centre structure. No wonder he screamed when they tried to shift him.

John swallowed hard and dismounted. He crouched down beside the phaeton.

“Spence? It’s me. John.”

“Knew you’d come. Guilty conscience wouldn’t let you stay away.” Spencer’s voice was slurred and fading, but there was an echo of the old vindictiveness still there.

“Guilty conscience?” John asked, wondering if his brother’s mind was wandering.

“Oh, yes. I’ve always known you wanted to be me.” Spencer paused and fisted his hand for a moment. His other arm was trapped beneath the phaeton.

The pain must be excruciating. John tugged off his glove and held tight to Spencer’s free hand. “No, Spence. I envied you Trewbridge, not the title. Oh, and sometimes I envied your famous way with the ladies. But I didn’t want to be you.” He noticed he was talking in the past tense and reined himself in. How callous could he be? “No. I’m too dull to enjoy racing around, trying to keep ahead of my conscience.”

Spencer ignored the last comment. “Dull,” he rasped. “I told her that would singe your whiskers.”

“For a time it did,” John murmured. “But I’ve found someone who needs me and doesn’t think I’m dull. And I have an estate that will not give me sleepless nights like the responsibility of Trewbridge would.”

There was a long silence and John felt the world shrink down to just the two of them, in the dark, with the sounds of rescue far away. Then Spencer’s cracked voice whispered, “But you will have it all now, while I dance with demons.”

“I don’t think so. We’ll get you out of here. More men are coming. We will lift this damned phaeton off you and—-”

“No!” Spencer’s voice rose again. “I do not want to be saved.” He gave a slight huff that might have been a laugh. “Never did.”

The erratic pulse fluttering against John’s fingers slowed, and in the fitful torchlight, John saw his brother slide away. Spencer’s last breath exhaled on a sigh and his face gradually slackened into pain-free oblivion. His cold hand lay flaccid in John’s warm one.

John bent his head and prayed for Spencer’s soul. He had never, never imagined that one day he would kneel on the edge of a roadway in the peaceful English countryside beside his dying brother. He choked back a sob. “A wasted life,” he whispered.

Romantic Suspense: LETHAL REFUGE

Abused and abandoned as a child, Célie Francis knows better than to trust anyone. But after she witnesses a murder, she's placed in the Unit—New Zealand’s witness protection program—where she’s expected to trust strangers with her life.

Inching along the wall, Célie reached the window. She held on to the door jamb, a little island of security in a sea of fear. Then she stretched across and peered out.

A featureless face stared back at her.

She screamed and jumped back, bashing her elbow on the laundry tub.

Peaches lumbered to his feet, shaky and confused.

The face was still there. No eyes. No mouth. No nose.

Peaches staggered over to the door and snuffled.

Mesmerised, Célie kept staring at that distorted face as she backed into a corner.

Then the face moved and a hand spread across the glass. The forefinger and thumb rubbed together.

Flashes of memory seared her mind. She gasped, remembering that fearful morning when she’d discovered poor Occy’s disemboweled body. Stunned, struggling not to vomit, she’d been hovering over what was left of Occy when she sensed she was being watched. For a few precious seconds she had stared back at the creepy figure silhouetted in the early morning gloom watching her—just watching her.

Then he’d rubbed his thumb and forefinger together covetously, as if he were contemplating the best way to eat her alive.

And she’d bolted. And done her best to bury those memories.

Whoever that monster had been, he was outside the window right now.

Caroline: Wow, that certainly piqued my interest! Where can readers find your books?

Vonnie: Either by clicking on the buttons on my site at www.vonniehughes.com or going to my amazon.com page which is http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Vonnie+Hughes&x=18&y=20

Caroline: How can readers learn more about you?

Vonnie: As well as the above website, there is also http://vonniehughes.blogspot.com

http://www.facebook.com/VonnieJHughes

Thanks, Vonnie, for being a guest today and sharing your new releases with us. Books make wonderful gifts, don't they?

I'll be back on Friday to share a Christmas story with you.

VANNETTA CHAPMAN ISN'T FALLING TO PIECES

2011-12-19T00:43:00.003-06:00

Vanetta Chapman

Caroline asked me to blog about something I learned while researching my Amish cozy mystery, FALLING TO PIECES, set in Shipshewana, Indiana. Easy to do, since I learned a lot! I'll give you my top 5 things, but trust me . . . there are many more.

An Amish family garden

5. Amish women are hard workers. I kind of knew this since they don't have electricity, many live on a farm, and most have a lot of children. But when I visited one farmhouse and saw the beautiful vegetable garden, and this sweet mother running around working at the end of the day--I wanted to drop on to the porch swing and rest just from watching her. These folks work hard, and I was a bit ashamed of myself for whining when I have to fill up the dishwasher.

Amish boys with
mom at the market

4. Amish boys in Shipshewana wear wool caps instead of the traditional Amish hat. This was a surprise! I had the image of the little boy in the movie, "Witness," but when we arrived in Shipshe, we saw all of these boys (from toddlers to teens) wearing wool caps--and the first time we were there was in June! When I asked why, the woman I was with shrugged and said, "Because that's what their dat wore." They do wear the traditional hat to church and formal gatherings.

3. Amish teens often have cell phones that they charge when they're in town. Whoa! Stop the manuscript. Seriously? Oh yeah. You might be familiar with the word rumspringa, when an Amish teenager tries things from the Englisch world. Turns out many now have cell phones, which they charge when they're in town at their jobs or meeting friends. One pastor told me he knows his older son has a phone, but he will not allow him to have the internet on it.

2. The Amish live in fairly normal looking houses. In my mind, I was expecting something like what Laura Ingalls Wilder grew up in, but in fact Amish homes and farms look very similar to everyone else's. We learned to tell the difference fairly quickly--buggies in the barn and no electrical lines to the property!

1. The Amish are more than willing to talk to "Englischers." Probably the biggest surprise waiting for me in Shipshewana was the people. For some reason I expected them to be reclusive, reticent, unwilling to talk to outsiders in general and authors in particular. My experience was completely the opposite. Some of the Amish I met were regular chatter-boxes. Others were more quiet. All were friendly and invited me into their homes.

As you can tell, I learned a lot during my first visit to Shipshewana, the setting of FALLING TO PIECES. My second trip there, after the advanced reader copies had come out, I was a little worried how folks would react to me. I was killing off people in their town! They were so gracious and kind. And when we went back the third time? It was because they'd asked myself, Shelley Shephard Gray and Amy Clipston to be grand marshals in their Christmas parade. What an awesome experience, and what a lovely community. I can't wait to visit them again!

Buy link http://www.amazon.com/Falling-Pieces-Shipshewana-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005LIZP7E/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

You can find me on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/VannettaChapmanBooks, my blog http://vannettachapman.wordpress.com,
and my webpage www.VannettaChapman.com.

Vannetta, thank you so much for sharing with us today. The divider of mittens is in homage to your earlier series, the Amish Knitting Circle books. Wishing you continued success with your wonderful books!

Readers, thanks for stopping by!

WHERE ONE BOOK IDEA ORIGINATED + HINT

2011-12-16T00:45:00.058-06:00

Writer waiting for idea!

Where do writers get our ideas? Everywhere! Mine for THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE came partly due to my fascination with Ireland, and partly due to a very sad event that occurred several years ago in the Fort Worth, Texas area. This particular idea also required extensive research.

Perhaps you already know that Irish Travelers are descended from medieval minstrels and poets who traveled Ireland telling myths and stories. At that time, they were well respected and quite learned. Travellers claim that they even predate the Celtic invasion of Ireland, and are the oldest inhabitants of that Island. Travellers claim by oral tradition to be descended from the pre-Celts. Mab is an old pagan female goddess of the pre-Celts, who were known as the "fairies," "Fir Bolgs," and "Tuatha De Danann."

20th Century Irish Travelers

Modern Travelers have their own language or cant (also known in Ireland as Gammon), Sheldroo, which is linked to medieval language. At the the various times of English occupation, many Irish families were turned out of their homes. During periods of the 18th and 19th centuries, it was illegal for Irish to learn to read and write—only the English could attend schools and universities. Teaching an Irish child to read was even a crime. Hedgerow schools met--you guessed it--under the hedgerows where those displaced who could read taught some of those who could not. Most, however, did not learn to read and write more than their name, if that.

Restored Traveler wagon has a
surprising amount of storage

Homeless Irish families drifted in with the traveling minstrels and eventually became the Irish Travelers. They camped in fields. Later they acquired tents, then the colorful wagons that resemble gypsy wagons. Hero and I were fortunate enough to see several of these colorful wagons in Irish and Scottish museums and they are amazingly compact with a surprising amount of storage. Those we saw were in primary colors of red and green with yellow wheels.

Even though their wagons are similar, Travelers are not gypsies. Gypsies are Roms and originated in India/Asia. Travelers are of Irish origin, although they have now spread throughout the Western world.

Legislation in Ireland has set aside special camping places for the Travelers. In Ireland and the UK, controversy continues over whether or not the children should be forced to attend school. In the U.S., they are supposed to attend school.

A large base of Irish Travelers is in White Settlement near Fort Worth, Texas and another in Los Angeles, California. There are other settlements thoughout the United States, especially in the Carolinas and the Appalachian states. In White Settlement, many Travelers live in RV’s or mobile homes at a park owned by one of the Travelers. The children don’t attend school, or if they go, it’s only sporadically. Most of the families are Roman Catholic and most wives attend mass.

Travelers were/are also called Tinkers because there was usually one among them who repaired pots and pans and metal wares. I first heard the word tinker as a child, used in the nursery rhyme I sang as I jumped rope. Wherever the jumper missed, that was who she or he would marry. The rhyme, in case your childhood was more sophisticated than mine, went something like, "Doctor, lawyer, policeman, thief. Tinker, tailor, Indian chief." Later, I read the word tinker in Louis L'Amour's books, referring not only to a man who worked metal, but one who made knives.

My first introduction to modern Irish Travelers—or Tinkers—came one January day when a terrible accident happened on Interstate 20 just west of Fort Worth, Texas. I've mentioned this before, but it made an indellible impression on me and many others. Hero and I were driving by as traffic was diverted by State Troopers. Paramedics spread yellow groundsheets over the last victims as we passed. From the several groundsheets spread on the ground, we knew the accident was a bad one, but learned from the newspaper the following day just how sad. A group of boys had been driving the new, red, double-cab pickup one received as a Christmas gift and going to visit their uncle west of Weatherford. The five boys—all cousins or brothers—were going so fast when the driver lost control that the pickup actually became airborne, sailed across a median, and landed on top of another pickup. All six people died. Three were brothers, cousins to the other two brothers, plus the man driving east toward Fort Worth.

Texas State Troopers, sheriff’s deputies, police officers, firemen, and paramedics were so moved by the deaths of these five young men from one extended family that many of them attended the funeral in White Settlement. At the funeral, they learned these young men were all much younger than they'd believed. Their drivers licenses were fakes! The ages were from 13 to 16, not 16 to 21 as the ID’s had indicated. Sadly, fake ID's are not uncommon for modern Irish Travelers. This accident sparked several in-depth columns about Irish Travelers and their culture in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

About three or four times a year, an Irish Traveler stops by our rural home and offers to pave our drive or repair our roof. The men are usually medium height and have startlingly clear blue eyes. If we were gullible enough—as one of our friends was—to let him resurface our driveway, in all likelihood he would use a mixture of fluid which might resemble asphalt, but actually would be oil which washed away in a hard rain. Another common ploy of dishonest Traveller (and other) roofers is to get a 50% deposit for roofing, then disappear.

I am not bashing Irish people. After all, I’m partly of Scot-Irish descent and love anything to do with Ireland!

I’m identifying a stereotype. I’m sure there are good people from this sub-ethnic group of Irish Travelers. As with many other groups, we only hear about the bad ones. (When's the last time you heard a feature news story about a happy Hollywood couple?) For a couple hundred years, Irish Travelers have been thought of as con men and their wives as beggars. In fact, some make a good living honestly while others live hand to mouth or steal.

They’re accused of “selling” their daughters at a young age to marry much older men. Is that true? I don’t know. I admit I've watched the tasteless TV show "My Big Fat Irish Wedding." What can I say? It's like a train wreck and I simply can't look away.

Travelers have made national news because of their shoplifting rings. Are there honest Travelers? Of course there are, just as there are honest and dishonest people from any ethnic group.

In THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE, the heroine and her family were among those turned off their land by an English landlord. Rather than starve, they joined a band of Irish Travelers. How did they end up trekking across the U.S. and in Texas?

Sure, now, and it's a lovely tale. I hope you’ll read the book to learn the answer. (Hint!)

Buy link: www.thewildrosepress.com/caroline-clemmons-m-638.html OR at Amazon and other online stores. Makes a great gift! (hint, hint, hint!)

ANY CAT LOVERS OUT THERE?

2011-12-14T00:32:00.030-06:00

I thought so! And are your cats valued members of your family? Mine definitely are. As the staff for two cats, I’m pleased to present my review for a book of interest to all cat owners...or anyone who even contemplates adopting a feline companion. I highly recommend this book!

Darlene Arden’s THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW really is everything you need to know about your cat. Say you’ve had cats all your life and believe you know all about adopting and caring for a cat. Wanna bet?

For instance, did you know a group of cats is called a clowder? I didn’t. I also didn’t realize that not all vaccines are good or necessary. But which are which? Can your cat catch your cold or vice versa? Can you teach your cat not to scratch furniture? Darlene’s book answers all your questions in simple language and logical order.

THE COMPLETE CAT'S MEOW: EVERYTHING
YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT CARING FOR
YOUR CAT by Darlene Arden from Wiley Publishing

Miss Delilah
Sue Kitty

Here's a genuine recommendation and example from me. If I’d had Darlene’s book several years ago, I could have spotted problems and prolonged the life (with quality) of my late pet, Miss Delilah Sue Kitty. Delilah died of renal failure, which I would have spotted when it could have been treated if I’d had a copy of THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW. But Delilah was sixteen, and I simply thought she was old and had kitty dementia that made her forget where the litter box was. (Unfortunately, she chose the dining room carpet instead, and we still can’t get the smell out.) The vet told us renal failure is the number one killer of elderly cats.

Darlene covers every aspect of cat ownership from before a kitten is born to caring for the elderly cat. Those of us who already have cats realize that each has its own personality and needs. By reading this book, we can meet our pets needs to provide them high quality long lives.

Darlene and friends

Whoa! Don’t think Darlene Arden is some sweet little old gray-haired cat lady crocheting anitmacassars while she coos to her 17 cats. Not at all! She is sweet, but Darlene Arden’s passion for helping animals live longer and better lives shines through in all she does. Whether she’s writing books or articles, speaking to breed clubs and other animal-related groups, attending veterinary conferences to increase her own knowledge and as a presenter, or interacting with individual pet owners, her goal is always the same -- to enhance the lives of dogs and cats.

Darlene with Crysteena of Drgon,
Pekingese owned by Nancy Ross
Photo by Mary Bloom

This amazing woman is an award-winning writer, lecturer, and author of “The Irrepressible Toy Dog,” (Howell Book House”) and “The Angell Memorial Animal Hospital Book of Wellness and Preventive Care for Dogs (Contemporary Books), is an internationally recognized authority on Toy dogs and their care, and a Certified Animal Behavior Consultant.

Darlene has written hundreds of articles and columns for all of the major dog and cat publications, as well as newspapers and general interest publications. A former member of Dog Writers’ Association of America, Inc., and former director of the Cat Writers’ Association and a member of Boston Authors, Darlene is a recipient of numerous awards, including the Maxwell Award, the Muse Medallion, and the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals/American Humane Education Society’s Media Award for veterinary writing and animal welfare. There are more awards I won't mention because I'm starting to feel like a total slacker.

Darlene makes friends with
an Affenpinscher puppy
Photo by Mary Bloom

She also writes celebrity profiles and travel features. In fact, Leslie Nielsen said, “Darlene is a fine writer, and a witty lass who caught my personality as only a true professional could."

She is a frequent guest on radio and television, and she produces and hosts her own cable television show, “Creatively Speaking". Darlene is a popular and much acclaimed speaker. You may contact her through her website at www.darlenearden.com. Her blog "PerPETually Speaking" is at http://perpetuallyspeaking.blogspot.com

You understand now how qualified Darlene Arden is to write THE COMPLETE CAT’S MEOW! Wouldn't this book make a great gift? The buy link at Amazon is:
http://www.amazon.com/Complete-Cats-Meow-Everything-Caring/dp/0470641673/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323815447&sr=1-1

Darlene's Barnaby and Bruiser,
Best friends

Caroline at work assisted
by Bailey, the shy tabby.

Thanks for stopping by!

“Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose.” – Garrison Keillor.

SANTA'S MAKING A LIST AND CHECKING IT TWICE

2011-12-12T00:49:00.001-06:00

What’s on your Christmas list? Do you have or want an E-reader, or are you a die hard paper fan? Whichever you answer, I hope you have books on your list to give and as hints to receive. Let me tell you about one of my books I hope you’ll read and enjoy.

So far, the Kincaid series consists of THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE and THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND. Today, I want to tell you about the latter.

When I was thinking about the plot and naming characters, I wondered what to call this hero. He was a bit of a rascal, or thought he was, but he changes throughout the book. Talk about character arc! I was sitting in church one Sunday and the minister mentioned that Bartholomew and Nathaniel were the same person, but his name changed to show his life’s change when he became a Christian. Aha! Nathaniel Batholomew would be my hero’s name. But he uses a long string of aliases, one of which is Nate Barton, and that’s how he introduces himself to the heroine, Sarah Kincaid.

Sarah is the younger half-sister of the heroine in THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE. These are stand-alone books (authors always say that) but you will enjoy them far more if you read them in order. Sarah is a shy young woman very conscious of appearances and is going back to Texas from St. Louis and her mother's funeral. Due to her unfortunate childhood, she always acts with propriety. She needed a strong character arc too. What could possibly cause this proper young schoolteacher to interact with a man she suspects is up to no good? Nothing short of orphans who must be rescued from an evil man following them could effect the change. One snowy day in Memphis, Tennessee, Sarah finds three cold youngsters, one of whom is seriously ill. She enlists Nate to help her get the youngsters safely to her home. She also hires a lovely Irish woman, Fiona, to act as her companion for the rest of the trip.

Many readers have written to ask when the next Kincaid book will be published. In the future, book three is planned for Sarah’s brother Storm. I also plan a novella for Nate’s friend Michael “Monk” and Fiona’s daughter. I love this family and the characters surrounding it, so you can be certain I’ll be publishing more books about the Kincaid family and friends in the near future!

Cover design by my Hero husband,
who is certain everyone knows
the Jack is also called the Knave
and that a knave is a rogue

Here’s an excerpt from THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND:

That man in black--he'd introduced himself as Nathaniel Barton--had been at the cemetery. He was always around on the boat, too, and now he was here in their hotel in Memphis. He trailed behind her as if he hadn't a care in the world. Surely it was coincidence. Lots of people traveled from St. Louis to Memphis every day.

The porter stopped in front of a room and opened the door. He stood back for her to enter, but not before she saw Mr. Barton at the next door. He even glanced her way and smiled as he nodded his head in greeting.

My stars, he's staying in the very next room to mine.

What kind of hotel would allow a single man on the same floor as a single woman? She fought down panic as she dealt with the porter, then locked the door behind him and slid the bolt. Alone in her room, her imagination ran its course as she paced. Had she strayed into a den of iniquity?

No, that couldn't be. Mrs. Welborn assured her this was a family hotel suitable for a young woman. After all, the Welborns registered here, too. How did Mr. Barton come to be in the very room next to her? It wasn't proper. What would people think? What would they say?

She caught herself. The Welborns were the only people here she knew, and she hardly cared what they thought other than their reports back to the Vermillions and Aunt Lily. Even they could hardly blame her for the hotel's room assignments.

This Mr. Barton could not mean her harm. There'd been ample opportunity on the paddle wheeler had he intended to hurt her. They'd never had a conversation on a personal level. His comments had centered on the trip and the weather, not a hint of anything improper and always with others nearby. Perhaps his constant presence was a coincidence. Just the same, he made her nervous. She felt like a rabbit waiting for the wolf to pounce whenever Mr. Barton was near.

In the midst of her concern, she admitted his presence offered reassurance to her that she was protected from others. Surely he would rush to her aid if she needed assistance. Her instincts proved right regarding Mr. Welborn. Perhaps she should rely on intuition in this instance. She wished she were more decisive, not a victim of warring emotions.

She raised her skirt and checked the little double-shot derringer given her by her brother, Storm. Best to be prepared. The little gun still rested securely in its garter holster on her thigh. Storm had insisted she practice until she was a fair shot. Would she have the courage to use the weapon against a human? She doubted it, but its weight reassured her.

Sarah spied the door connecting her room with the one in which Mr. Barton resided. Rushing to check the lock, she stopped. She must not let him know she suspected him of following her. Very slowly she turned the knob of the connecting door. Locked. She released a heavy sigh.

Curiosity nudged her. Kneeling, she peered through the keyhole. The opening framed him as he pulled a fresh shirt from an open valise on the bed. Shucking his jacket and waistcoat, he took a pistol from his waistband and placed it on the bed beside the satchel. He unbuttoned his shirt.

She knew she should move away but couldn't. Oh, my stars! He might dress like a riverboat dandy, but this gorgeous man was no weakling. Trouser fabric pulled taut against trim hip muscles when he turned and bent over the things on the bed.

Her mouth went dry as a Texas dust storm. She watched him turn back to face her. He removed his shirt and tossed it behind him on the bed. Then she saw the bandage across his shoulder and another at his waist. She wondered which side of the law he was on when he got those, but thought she knew. The wrong side, of course.

He picked up a fresh shirt and she caught the ripple of muscles across his chest as he slipped the shirt on. His movements were swift and powerful, not the sluggish ambling she had witnessed in public.

Occasionally in summer she had caught glimpses of her brother, her brother-in-law, and the hands at the ranch with their shirts off. Unlike their tanned torsos, Mr. Barton's pale skin made her fingers tingle to touch the brown chest hair that converged in a vee at his belt. She wondered how far below his waist the pelt descended. A pool of warmth gathered at the base of her stomach.

My stars, what disgraceful thoughts.

Where did they come from? They weren’t proper. No, not at all suitable. Being away from home must be having a poor effect on her.

Never before had such scandalous ideas entered her head about any man. She didn’t have these thoughts about Peter Dorfmeyer, and everyone expected her to marry Peter. Mr. Barton was the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but she must get her wayward thoughts under control.

Buttoning his shirt, Mr. Barton stepped from her view. When he returned and glared at the keyhole, she froze. Surely he couldn't know she watched him. She sank further to the floor and sat with her back against the door.

Sarah pressed her hands to heated cheeks, shocked at her own behavior. She was no better than a window peeper. What on earth had come over her?

A sudden thought assailed her. What if he planned to look through the keyhole as she had? Taking a hanky from her cuff, she draped it over the doorknob so it hung across the tiny opening. No, that wouldn’t do. It kept sliding off. She rose and opened her traveling bag and took out a shirtwaist. Hanging it on the knob, she stepped back. Perfect. It looked as if she used the handle for a hook.

She crossed to the vanity. Not taking time to change from her traveling suit into a dress, she contented herself with pushing stray hair back into her chignon and grabbing her shawl. With any luck, she could purchase her train ticket while her neighbor had his dinner.

Sarah walked briskly to the train station. A line greeted her at the ticket window. Oh, well, she loved watching people, so she wouldn't mind the wait. Taking her place in the row, she surveyed the other prospective passengers wandering to and fro. She studied the clothes of other women, compared them to her own black clothing. In her head she made up stories of who they were and where they might be headed.

A young boy bumped with a wham into the man in front of her. The child's hand darted into the man's pocket and out with a flash and secured the lifted wallet under his shirt. Probably no more than seven or eight, the lad wore the dirtiest clothes Sarah had ever seen. His hair might have been blond at one time, but it and his skin had gone a long time without touching soap and water.

"Oh, excuse me, sir." The boy's large blue eyes were the picture of innocence when he gazed up at the man.

Sarah gasped. What should she do? She couldn't bring herself to cause a scene by screaming, but neither could she stand by and let the child rob this man.

"Steady, you little ragamuffin.” The victim placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Slow down and see you're more careful next time.”

"Yes, sir, sorry. I will, sir.” The boy moved swiftly away into the crowd.

Sarah took off after the little thief. He looked over his shoulder and she motioned to him. His eyes widened in alarm and he ran. She gathered her skirts and rushed after him, weaving around groups of people.

When she had almost caught up with the light-fingered boy, she thudded against a solid wall of chest.

Mr. Barton grunted and clutched Sarah's shoulders, then dropped his hands and made a slight bow. "Why, I believe it's Miss Kincaid, is it not? Are you in some sort of distress?"

"No, it was nothing.” She peered over his shoulder but the thief was nowhere in sight. "I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was mistaken.” She felt her cheeks flush again with guilt. Their collision must have jarred his injured chest, but she couldn't ask him about it. How could she explain that knowledge?

"Your traveling companions--Welwoods or Welworths--are they with you?"

"No. The Welborns were tired and planned to have dinner sent to their room.” She thanked heavens for that. Eating with the odious Mr. Welborn soured her stomach. But now this man who, for all appearances, followed her everywhere had neatly trapped her. A shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine, but she stood mesmerized by his tawny eyes.

As if he sensed her fear, he offered a crooked smile and proffered his` arm. "May I escort you back to the hotel?"

"I was..." she stopped. Her nerves jangled with alarm, but she strove to appear calm. She preferred buying her ticket in private. If he hadn't yet learned where she headed, she didn't want him to know her exact destination. "That would be very kind, um, Mr. Barton.”

"Bit cool this evening, isn't it?"

My stars, didn't the man ever talk about anything but the weather? Maybe he was one of those gorgeous physical specimens with the brain of a rock.

She sighed and answered, "Yes, there's a chill in the air. I suppose we're in for more winter.”

What should she do? Panic turned her stomach in knots. She should send him on his way, but didn't know what to say or do. Hating herself for her timidity, she once more flowed with the easiest course and allowed herself to be escorted back to the hotel.

Buy links for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND are:

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/MOST-UNSUITABLE-HUSBAND-Kincaids-ebook/dp/B004M8T1D8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1323636066&sr=1-1

Smashwords
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/37792?ref=CarolineClemmons

Reviews for THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND include a 4 1/2 star Top Pick from Romantic Times Magazine. This book was also a finalist in the National Readers Choice competition but came in a fraction behind the winner. But it’s impossible to please everyone. Two people have left very mean-spirited reviews on Amazon. If you read this book and enjoy it, would you please leave a review on Amazon?

Thanks for stopping by!

BETH TRISSEL SHARES HER FAMILY'S HOME

2011-12-09T00:15:00.003-06:00

Beth Trissel and friends

Please welcome my friend Beth Trissel, a lovely person as well as a wonderful author. Beth shares with us the story behind her latest release, SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING. Here's Beth:

THE STORY BEHIND
MY CHRISTMAS ROMANCE
SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING is book three in my ‘Somewhere’ series with a Christmas theme. The common thread in the series is that the story opens in one place, so far an old Virginia home, and then transports the reader ‘Somewhere else,’ either back in time in the same house as in SOMEWHERE MY LOVE, or another place entirely, such as the Scottish Highlands in SOMEWHERE MY LASS. *Fans of that story and the quirky secondary character Fergus will be glad to know I’m at work on the sequel.

Back to my latest release, SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING. Set in the old Virginia home place where my father grew up, a beautiful plantation home from the early 19th century, the story opens in 1968 during the tumultuous age of hippies, Vietnam, and some of the best darn rock music ever written. That nostalgic era beckoned to me (clamored) as did an earlier one, 1918 and the end of World War One. Not in the way of battle scenes, but in the form of a wounded soldier recently returned from war-weary France who lives in the house.

I’ve seen the early 20th century family photos and often pondered that bygone age, gracious in many ways apart from the war(s). Having a Marine Corps Captain grandfather who distinguished himself during the thick of the fighting in France during The Great War and then tragically died when my father was only three influenced this story–dedicated to the grandfather I never knew, but grieved all the same.

But the biggest influence was the poignant dream I had years ago about a young woman visiting this house during the Christmas holidays and the mysterious gentleman she met. His profound sadness made a deep impression on me, as did the gentleman himself, and the young lady who reached out to him. That dream nagged at me every Christmas until I finally wrote their story. I can let it go now. If you enjoy an intriguing mystery with Gothic overtones and heart-tugging romance set in vintage America then SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING is for you.

Family home which inspired
SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING

Blurb: Caught with pot in her dorm room, Bailey Randolph is exiled to a relative's ancestral home in Virginia to straighten herself out. Banishment to Maple Hill is dismal, until a ghost appears requesting her help. Bailey is frightened but intrigued. Then her girlhood crush, Eric Burke, arrives and suddenly Maple Hill isn't so bad.

Eric Burke

To Eric, wounded in Vietnam, his military career shattered, this homecoming feels no less like exile. But when he finds Bailey at Maple Hill, her fairy-like beauty gives him reason to hope--until she tells him about the ghost haunting the house. Then he wonders if her one experiment with pot has made her crazy.

As Bailey and Eric draw closer, he agrees to help her find a long-forgotten Christmas gift the ghost wants. But will the magic of Christmas be enough to make Eric believe--in Bailey and the ghost--before the Christmas bells ring?~

***Available in various eBook formats from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon Kindle, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes & Noble’s Nookbook and other online booksellers.

Beth, thank you for sharing with us. You know I'm one of those fans waiting for Fergus' book - but then, I love all your books. I definitely enjoyed SOMEWHERE THE BELLS RING!

Readers, thanks for stopping by!